Silent Night Shattered: A DM Christmas Mystery
by The-Deckers
Summary: As the gang gathers for their holiday dinner, all the clues finally fall into place to solve a perplexing, five year old mystery. Ch11: Everything clicks into place for Mark. Ch12: The plot is revealed and Mark discovers he was wrong about something! STO
1. A Not So Silent Night

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction. No profit is being made from its publication. All DM characters are property of CBS/Viacom. The Morgansterns and their house manager are property of the authors.

**Note:** This is a 'blind' round-robin story. One person wrote the beginning and end of the story and plotted out the rest. Then, each of the other writers got a small paragraph telling her who was in her scene, what was happening, and what important clues she had to reveal. Each member had to work in isolation and had no idea what the others were doing. When all parts were complete, they were synthesized into one story. For us, it was an unusual challenge with delightful results. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did. The Deckers.

**Silent Night Shattered**

**A DM Christmas Mystery**

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**Chapter One: A Not-So-Silent Night **

". . . Sleep in heavenly peace . . . "

Mark could feel the tension in his shoulders and jaw crescendo as the Christmas carol ended. If he hadn't been up to his elbows in the stuffing he was making for the twenty-three pound turkey he was preparing for tomorrow's pre-Christmas dinner, he would have dashed into the living room to hit the skip button on the CD player when the song had started. As it was, he was far too busy to stop what he was doing for an annoying little tune, so he had just endured the few brief verses of what he had once believed was a beautiful song. Since Amanda had taken the boys back east to spend Thanksgiving with Ron, and Jesse was going to spend Christmas with his mom, they had all decided to split the difference and have a holiday of their own on the twentieth of December.

There was a brief silence as the CD changer switched discs, and then Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer started blasting through the house. Mark sighed. That was more like it. Then he frowned. It was a shame, really. He used to love "Silent Night." It had been his favorite Christmas song. He'd even sung it as a lullaby to his children when they were small to help them fall asleep on Christmas Eve so that Santa could come and deliver their gifts. Now, it was merely an unpleasant reminder of one of his most frustrating cases, one of the few he had never solved. Whether it was being sung in the pure, off-key clarity of innocent children's voices or the harmonious perfection of a well-rehearsed choir, for the past five Christmases, that sweet, simple melody had grated on his nerves every time he heard it.

_". . . Sleep in heavenly . . ."_

_Mark, Steve, and Jesse listened with rapt attention as the children's choir finished their final song in an enthusiastic, if out-of-tune, chord. Amanda, whose hands were full with a tray of hot chocolate for the children and their Sunday school teachers, stood beaming proudly as her two young sons smiled back at her._

_" . . . pea . . . "_

_"Nooo! Oh, God, nooo!" A woman's unholy scream followed by loud sobbing rent the still air cutting the choir off in mid-voice. Amanda jumped at the noise, spilling the hot chocolate, which burned her hands and caused her to drop the tray. At the same moment, one of the Sunday school teachers dropped the collection can she had been carrying to take any donations appreciative listeners might want to offer, and loose coins and bills mingled with the sticky brown cocoa and the empty Styrofoam cups that were rolling across the driveway in the slight, chill breeze._

_"Oh, Fred, I . . . he . . . oh, God, I'm sorry!" A man's frightened and distressed shout rose into the night. "I didn't . . . It wasn't . . .Oh, God!"_

_As the choir broke into confused conversation, Mark, Amanda, and their teachers tried to get the children to gather up the cups and the money. A second hysterical shriek split the darkness and Steve, who had ducked inside for his badge and gun said, "That sounds like it came from the Morgansterns' house. Dad, Jesse, Amanda, get everyone inside as quick as you can and call 911."_

_"Right, son," Mark agreed. "Be careful."_

_"I will, Dad," Steve reassured his father, and as he headed off toward the neighbors' house, another wail split the air._

_At the end of the drive, Steve realized he had company. Turning to his young friend, he said, "Go back to the house, Jess."_

_"But you might need a doctor," Jesse argued, not wanting to miss the excitement._

_"If I do, I'll call you when the scene is secure," Steve replied. "Until then, it will be safer for me if I don't have to watch out for you, too."_

_Jesse pouted slightly as he watched Steve head off into the night, and then he headed back to the beach house, dragging his feet every step of the way. If he'd only had to worry about himself, he would have insisted on tagging along, but when Steve made his own safety an issue, there was no way Jesse could argue about being left behind._


	2. History Repeats Itself

**Part Two: History Repeats Itself **

Steve grumbled under his breath as the wind blustered around him, the chilly ocean front air cutting through both the T-shirt and matching blue patterned flannel that he was wearing over it. It didn't help that that background music pouring out of the house now was "Jingle Bells." That song always made him think of snow and cold weather.

He looked through the deck railing and into the house, thinking briefly of going inside and grabbing a jacket. That way he could try to maintain at least a little body heat. But then, he realized that would mean climbing down the ladder that he was perched on top of, and then climbing back up it again to finish hanging the lights. He'd just as soon stay out there shivering. As long as he didn't look down, he didn't have to think about just how far up he was.

Standing on the top of a ladder, trying to hang uncooperative lights along the lower edge of the deck wasn't his idea of fun under normal circumstances. They always managed to tangle, and it didn't help that he was trying to alternate colors. But ever since the Morganstern case it had been worse. One trip up and down the ladder to hang the lights was all he was good for. And not just because he didn't like heights. The manner of Fred Morganstern's death had given his slightly acrophobic sensibilities the heebee jeebees. It had all happened five years ago . . . .

_Having managed to convince Jesse to stay behind while he checked out the yelling that was coming from the Morganstern's, he'd just rounded the hedges near the property line when the neighbor's home came into view. The first thing he noticed was Alexis Morganstern, standing beside a fallen ladder in the yard. Usually perfectly made up, she had mascara running in dark smears down her face as she looked up toward the roof screaming Fred's name hysterically. _

_As Steve cautiously moved in closer, he followed her gaze upward and drew to a gasping halt at the sight before him. There, hanging from the eaves, was Fred Morganstern. A thick cord of flashing red and green lights were wrapped tightly about his neck. Dressed in green sweat pants matched with a patterned red and green sweat shirt, he looked like some sort of macabre ornament in a Christmas decorating scheme gone horribly wrong. Just the thought of those wires wrapped tightly around Fred's throat made Steve swallow hard. _

_Policeman's instinct snapped swiftly into place, as his mind automatically catalogued the things that he saw and heard. Bert, Fred's identical twin brother, was standing on the roof, babbling incoherently as he held onto a smiling half-lit Santa. As Steve watched, the man slipped slightly, nearly loosing his footing on the steep roof. _

_With the man's near slip, Alexis' screams reached new heights. She nearly squealed his name as more tears poured down her face. Grimly, Steve put his gun away. He wasn't going to need it here tonight. Turning half to the side, he yelled over the hedges, "Dad! Jess! Amanda! You'd better get over here, and bring a ladder!" _

_At hearing his voice, Alexis seemed to realize that he was in the yard. She ran to his side and grasped his arm, yanking at it with jerking motions. "Help him! Oh, please, you've got to help him!" _

_"I'm working on that, Mrs. Morganstern," Steve tried to calm her, but her grip only tightened as perfectly manicured nails bit through his shirt and into his skin. He was relieved when his dad and Amanda appeared around the hedges. Both registered shock before continuing forward. He ushered Alexis into Mark's care. _

_Amanda looked with dismay at the obviously dead man hanging from the eaves and declared that she'd need to get Ms. June, one of the choir ladies, to take care of CJ and Dion for her because this was going to take a while. She set off back around the hedge just as Jesse appeared carrying a ladder. _

_Jesse paled a little as he took in the scene, allowing Steve to take the ladder from his grasp without looking away from the form hanging overhead. _

_Refusing to think about what he was going to have to do, Steve settled the ladder against the side of the house and started up. It was obvious that Bert wasn't in any condition to climb down the ladder alone at the moment. The man was still babbling incoherently, though he was too far up for Steve to make out what he was saying. But as he reached the roof level, he began to catch some of the words. _

_"I didn't know . . . . I didn't know. I'm so sorry. I didn't know . . ." His gaze was locked on the grisly form of his hanging brother._

_"Bert." Steve called his name gently from the top of the ladder. "Bert, I need you to look at me." _

_"I didn't know . . . . I didn't know . . . . " Bert continued to babble. _

_"Bert!" Steve called his name more forcefully. "Look at me, Bert. Do it for Fred." _

_The maneuver seemed to work as the man drew his stunned gaze toward Steve. He blinked once and then gazed down at the light bulb that he still held in one hand. He watched it numbly as it fell from his fingers and bumped against the roof several times before rolling over the edge and toppling to the ground. _

_The sight seemed to affect him deeply as his eyes reddened and teared. "I heard him yell, Steve," Bert said. "I heard him yell. But, since he only yelled once, and I was changing the bulbs under Santa's back side, I thought it could wait. I didn't know. I'm so sorry . . ." _

_"I know, Bert." Steve tried to placate the man. "But now you've got to let me get you down. Can you come over here and get on the ladder?"_

_Bert looked at him for a long moment and then nodded once. _

_"Good." Steve held out his hand toward him. As he did so, he made the mistake of looking downward. The world seemed to spin for a half second before he realized that the vertigo was all in his mind. Shoving away the buzz in his head, he locked his eyes back on the man on the roof. It wouldn't do for him to freeze up while he was trying to help someone else down. _

_Bert didn't seem to catch Steve's momentary lapse, and moved very slowly in his direction. He made it to the ladder and down to the bottom without incident. Despite the cool December weather, Steve was perspiring and felt uncomfortably trembly. _

_He'd hardly had time to pull himself together before Bert looked up at his brother and started babbling frantically again. His words added to Alexis' now lower-toned murmuring. _

_"Dad?" he looked at his father askance. Mark nodded, knowing what he needed. But before he could lead the pair into the house, Alisha, the couple's daughter, appeared at the front door. _

_"What's going on?" she asked, confusion written all over her lovely face. Before she could come farther out into the yard and see what had happened to her uncle, Jesse rushed forward. _

_Steve sighed with relief as his father and Jesse and the three remaining Morgansterns headed into the house. He turned as a police cruiser pulled into the driveway. Amanda returned soon after. _

The wind gusted up and blew a bit of dust into his eyes, bringing Steve back to the present. He blinked watering eyes as he considered the section of lights he had just hung. There was one irritatingly twisted bit off to the left. Mildly annoyed, he reached to again untwist it so that the colors would show correctly. As he did so, one of his feet slipped slightly to the side, throwing off an already precarious balance. In the next moment, his footing was lost altogether and he felt the sick sensation of plunging through empty air.


	3. Where There's Smoke

**Chapter Three: Where There's Smoke . . . **

Mark had a hard time concentrating on his dinner preparations. Almost of its own will, his mind kept drifting back to those first few hours after the discovery of Fred Morganstern's body. Over the years he had seen enough violence both as a doctor and as a police consultant to know that it crossed all economic levels, but, despite the fact that several violent events had taken place in his own house, Mark had never thought he'd be investigating a neighbor's murder.

_Mark watched silently as Amanda examined Fred's body. Her movements were efficient and confident as she moved up and down the corpse. Scribbling a few notes on a clipboard, she returned it to her bag and zipped it closed. Amanda turned to the young man who was driving the coroner's wagon and said. "The body can be transported to the morgue and prepared for autopsy, now. I will be right behind you."_

_Mark's gaze settled on the pathologist. "What do you think?"_

_"I've got some ideas," Amanda hedged._

_"Any you care to share?"_

_She shook her head. "Not until after the autopsy."_

_Mark knew better than to press Amanda for details. One of the reasons she was such a respected pathologist was that she never let speculation get in the way of her job. Often she noticed small details about the victim that no one else did. She was comfortable presenting a cause of death only after corroborating those details through the autopsy. _

_Mark also had some thoughts about the case but would wait until the autopsy was completed and then compare notes with Amanda. Looking around, he realized Jesse was no longer with him. He knew the young doctor had followed him to the Morganstern's and had helped him get Bert and Alexis calmed down while Amanda had started her examination of Fred's body, but then Mark had become so engrossed in taking in every detail of the scene that he hadn't noticed Jesse must've grown tired of watching. His forehead creased in a frown. He should find him and make sure he wasn't getting in anyone's way, he thought absently. Although Jesse had learned to temper his enthusiasm for police investigations over the years, occasionally he slipped and his natural exuberance broke through. _

_Entering the house again, Mark only had to follow the sound of muted sobbing to find his young friend. Jesse sat next to Alisha who was crying softly into a tissue. Mark recalled seeing the young woman on the beach and figured she was home from college to spend the Christmas holidays with her family. Since Jesse appeared to have his hands full trying to comfort Alisha, Mark turned his attention to Alexis and Bert. The couple sat in silence wearing matching stunned expressions._

_"Bert? Alexis? Are you hurt?"_

_Bert roused from his inertia first. "What? Oh, Mark." He finally seemed to realize Mark had asked a question. "No, no, we're not hurt. Fred, he, uh, he was . . ." Bert trailed off._

_"You don't need to say anything more. I've already seen Fred." Bert seemed not to recall that Mark had been the one to usher him and his wife into the house._

_"Alexis found him first. I came around to the front of the house when I heard her scream and . . . "_

_"It's okay, Bert." Mark interrupted him and turned his attention to Alexis. Her eyes were unfocused and he was worried about the possibility of shock. "Alexis, can you hear me?"_

_Slowly, she blinked. "Fred . . . he . . . I . . . it was horrible." Her voice was barely more than a whisper._

_"I'm sure it was," Mark comforted her. "Alexis, would you like me to give you a sedative so you can get some rest?"_

_"Yes, yes I'd like that. Every time I close my eyes all I see is Fred hanging . . . " Alexis shuddered at the memory._

_"Bert, would you like one too?"_

_"No, thank you. I'll be okay."_

_After his initial stupor, Bert had risen and was now pacing restlessly back and forth. Mark thought he might benefit from a sedative too but couldn't very well go against his wishes and administer one without his knowledge. It wasn't as if he was a threat to himself or anyone else. An ashtray sat on the coffee table, overflowing with snubbed out butts, a red box of Pall Malls with only a couple of cigarettes remaining lay beside it. Bert was rarely without a cigarette. Mark had often counseled his neighbor about the dangers of smoking to no avail._

_"Why don't you have a cigarette?" Mark finally suggested going against all his medical training and his better judgment. "It might help calm you down."_

_Bert gave a harsh laugh. "Can you believe it? I finally quit a few days ago. You're not the only one who's been after me to give up the cancer sticks, Mark. Alisha has been on me for years about my smoking. Finally, I decided I'd had enough, and I told her I'd quit by the time she came home for the holidays. Sort of like my Christmas present to her."_

_He blew out an impatient breath. "A cigarette would taste really good right now, but I'm not going back on my promise to my little girl."_

_Alisha lifted her head off of Jesse's shoulder. She gave her father a watery smile. "I'm so proud of you, Daddy."_

_"I'm sorry, Bert. I didn't realize you'd quit, or I never would've made the suggestion. I saw the ashtray and cigarettes and just assumed they were yours."_

_Bert glanced down at the paraphernalia on the coffee table. "I don't know who those belong to. They're not mine. They're not even my brand."_

_Mark stared down at the cigarettes. "Did you have any guests who smoked or see any business associates here at the house?"_

_"No." Bert shook his head. "Most of our friends gave up smoking long before I did and I don't bring clients home. It's more professional if I conduct all my business at the office."_

_"These have to be recently smoked," Alisha volunteered, shakily. "Ginny never would've left without cleaning them up. She went through all the rooms to make sure everything was in order before her cab got here."_

_"Ginny is your house manager?"_

_"Yes, she's been with us as long as we've been in Malibu." _

_"I'm sure the police will want to talk with her. You said she left by cab. Will she be back soon?"_

_"Not until just before New Year's," Alexis said, faintly. "I gave her the holidays off so she could go back east and see her grandchildren."_

_Mark had nearly forgotten his offer of a sedative to Alexis. Taking her by the elbow, he assisted her from the chair. "Why don't we get you somewhere more comfortable and then I'll give you that sedative, Alexis?"_

_"Thank you, Mark. I do appreciate it."_

_"You'll take care of Alisha?" Mark looked over his shoulder to Jesse who still had his arm around the girl._

_"Sure, I'll stay with her for a while, and," Jesse glanced over toward Bert who'd resumed his restless pacing, "I'll keep an eye on Bert too." _

The interview with Ginny had proven utterly fruitless. She seldom saw either Mr. Morganstern as it was, and once Bert had stopped smoking, she had found it impossible to tell them apart unless a nicotine craving made him irritable. One thing Mark did find interesting in Ginny's statement was that, when Bert had first stopped smoking, on a couple of occasions, he flew into a "really horrible, truly frightening rage," but then he'd become "quite mellow" and hadn't lost his temper or even gotten particularly irritable since. Mark didn't seriously believe Bert could have killed his own brother, although officially, he was a prime suspect, but he did idly wondered if nicotine withdrawal might become the next absurd excuse for taking the life of another human being.


	4. How Many Men Does It Take to Change a Li...

**Chapter Four: How Many Men Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb? **

Amanda hunted in the box of candies she kept near the tree for when the excitement got the better of her children, nerves got frayed or tears fell. She handed a red and white cane to CJ and told him to go sit on the sofa until he had finished it. Then with a smile she turned to her other son.

"You know stairs are dangerous, Christmas lights are also dangerous, put them together what do you get?"

Dion looked down at his feet, knowing that he had been lucky that it had only been his brother's pride that he had hurt. "I'm sorry, Mom, but he's … well, he keeps telling me that he knows what you've got me for Christmas and I'm gonna be disappointed!"

Amanda let out a short laugh, "Honey, he has no idea what you have for Christmas, because, trust me, it is so wonderful that if he did he wouldn't be able to keep quiet about it. Now go, get yourself a candy cane and sit and enjoy it. You can put the cartoons on, I need to just check on something in the kitchen, but call me if you need me, ok?"

Dion's eyes were now huge and bright, the thoughts of what he could possibly be getting for Christmas filling his mind. He nodded and made his way silently into the living room, grabbed his sweet and switched on the TV. As Amanda heard the sound of the theme tune to _Recess_ fill the air she headed for the kitchen, made herself a coffee and sat at the table; she needed to think, really think, and try to remember what it was that had eluded her all this time.

_The file on her desk seemed to mock her, and in frustration she picked up the folder on Mark Jamieson and plonked it down over the top so that the name Fred Morganstern no longer screamed at her._

_She stared at the body on the gurney over to the right of the lab. She had looked him over, done the autopsy, looked him over again, and she knew that something was wrong, she just couldn't work out what it was._

Amanda went and filled her coffee cup again, and then she got her laptop from its place in the hallway, booted it up and typed in Fred's name. It didn't take long for all the details to appear and she skated over the basics, which were that he was about six feet tall, fiftyish, well built, muscle not fat, and the most basic part of all, he was dead. Cause of death was listed as pending. It had been that way five years ago and it was still that way now, but as Amanda sat there she realised that she may have, indirectly, been handed the cause if not on a plate, then at least something close to it.

_Fred had been found reasonably quickly after death, and once the scene had been secured, and Amanda had checked in with the ME's Office she had collected her bag and made her way to the Morganstern's home for a second time. __The body was hanging limply from the eaves of the large and impressive house next to Mark's and, after she had decided that she was unable to pronounce the man dead until he had been cut free, Amanda had waited for the crime scene guys to come and take pictures and process the crime scene spending the time looking around and wondering what it was that had caused the man to end his life in such an awful way. _

_Steve had called out for a ladder from the beach house; she had used that excuse to come look around unofficially and she knew that Jesse and Mark had done the same. Steve had then rescued a distraught Bert and he had disappeared from her sight, keeping the man away from the front of the property so as not to upset him further or disturb the crime scene. She had made her call to the ME and gathered her equipment once she knew that Bert was safe, and all thoughts of a pleasant evening left her as she became the consummate professional of her working hours._

_There were steps going up to the house leading to the main entrance. Amanda could see where a ladder had been before it had fallen by slight scuff marks on the concrete, and she wished they lived in Colorado where there would have been at least a foot of snow to help her on her way, showing her footprints, ladder imprints, anything would have been nice. _

_By the time Amanda was able to take a closer look at the body it was clear that even if she hadn't known it, this was a very recently dead person. The skin had taken on a waxy appearance; even in the pale wintery light she could see the blue-grey colour that now tinged the face and neck. Fred's lips and nails were pale, and as she checked the temperature of the area Amanda was very surprised to find that it was already down to fifty degrees Fahrenheit. She hadn't expected Fred's body temperature to have dropped very much from the approximate norm of 98.6, unless, of course he had been outside for a while, but this was California, and if the weather was chilly people tended to stay indoors unless they had no choice._

_The Christmas lights, which were strung up to the eaves, followed the line of the roof all around the house, but now they were pulled and stretched out of shape. Amanda checked the position of the body again from underneath, wondered idly where they would make the white tape outline, and then with a sigh waited for him to be cut free so that she could begin to check him over wanting to see whether anything could be gained from examining him further at the scene._

The records scrolling up the screen in front of her told Amanda that she had in fact let the body be taken away quite quickly. The positioning had been noted, and having disturbed the corpse anyway she had decided to get it transported back to the warm, coffee laden lab before she began her work. Leaving her boys with Mark and sending Ms. June on her way, Amanda had followed the coroner's wagon back to Community General, somehow feeling that being so close by she owed it to Fred to begin work immediately.

_She clicked off her voice recorder, resisted the temptation to throw it across the room and instead sat heavily in her chair and killed a paper clip. Once the metal was lying in a straight line on her desk she began to go over what she had. Fred Morganstern was dead, there was no doubt about that, what was in doubt was why. From what Amanda could see he had hung by his throat from the side of a house, he hadn't broken his neck, but he had died, probably of asphyxiation._

_The position in which he had been found had been such that he should have hung himself, so why hadn't he? Many people who intended to commit suicide by hanging had to endure a far more painful death because the drop hadn't been sufficient for them to break their neck. Leaping from the top of a two storey house should have eliminated that problem but his neck wasn't broken, death wouldn't have been instantaneous and he had never been alone. So, maybe he had been on the ladder, slipped and fallen, but wouldn't he have cried out? Bert had been almost hysterical, devastated that he had heard his brother yell once and done nothing. Still Fred must have been hanging there a while to have died the way he did, and he should have called out again and again, but Bert claimed to have heard only the one shout. Could you suffocate silently? Amanda shook her head as she realised she had no idea._

_"So why is he here and not in the ER? There is no reason why this man is dead, he should have been spotted and saved, unless someone didn't want him to live," and she guessed that that someone could have been Fred himself. _

_With a deep sigh she pushed her suspicions away and began to take down detailed notes on the bruises on the neck. There were four thin rows of discolouration, which tallied with the amount of light wire around Fred's throat, the pattern of the flex went up behind the ears, forming an inverted v, confirming, if she needed it, the theory of suffocation rather than manual strangulation. _

_Knowing that it was always a good idea to assume at least one greenhorn on every murder enquiry, she had listed the differences between the ligature marks left in manual strangulation as opposed to a hanging. Strangled victims' bruises were straight, because the killer positions himself directly behind or to the side of his victim, contrasting to a suicide or lynching, which result in an inverted 'v', when the victim is left dangling with the rope attached above the head. _

Amanda closed down the programme on her computer, there was nothing else there, nothing that would help her anyway. For a few minutes her mind went over what had happened to CJ. She had been coming out of the den when she had heard the horseplay going on at the top of the short flight of steps up to the living room and she was just in time to see her younger son lose his footing and reach out wildly for the banister. He hadn't made it, but he had been able to grab hold of the fairy lights that she had hanging underneath it on clips, and they had undoubtedly broken his fall, as, instead of falling the entire length, he had swung round, banged his shoulder on the wall and ended up in a tearful heap on the third stair.

Amanda picked up a piece of paper from by the phone and began to make some notes. What if Fred had slipped, fallen over the edge, grabbed for the lights, and then got himself caught up in them? That had been one of her original thoughts five years ago, and so she wrote that down first, but then two more sinister scenarios came to mind; maybe he had been pushed over the side in an attempt to kill him, he had gotten caught up and the lights had done the job, causing him to die a far more painful death than either a fall or hanging could cause. Or he had worn the lights somehow draped around him and as he attached them gradually to the eaves, someone on the ground had pulled the ladder out from under him leaving him hanging, but not hanged. She drew a line underneath what she had written, it wasn't her job to sort all this out, but at least she knew that if she mentioned it to her friends they would be able to work on it together.

"Mommy, Mommy, Dion had another candy, can I have another one, can I, can I, please?"

Deciding with a sigh that CJ was spending so much time with Jesse that he was beginning to sound like him, Amanda shook her memories and new ideas away, she'd had enough speculating for now, and besides if she didn't get to the living room quickly there would be no canes left for her.


	5. Revisionist History

**Capter Five: Revisionist History **

Mark's nose was itching. Over the last 15 minutes it had become a chronic condition that was turning him cross-eyed and, as he leaned towards the recipe book, his nose twitched with the rabid intensity of a rabbit scenting a fresh lettuce patch, but it proved an unavailing attempt to relieve his craving, and with a huff of frustration, he stood back to consider his options.

His arms were once more buried to the elbows in a greasy mixture of onions, butter, chestnuts and herbs, thanks to the inability of his friends and family to reach a consensus as to one type of stuffing, obligating him to provide an alternate choice. He could satisfy the urge to scratch regardless of the slime covering his fingers or he could wash his hands, scratch, re-immerse himself in the stuffing and hope the sequence of events didn't repeat.

Another possibility would be to enlist the aid of a second party. As the thought crossed his mind, Mark threw a scowl at the window in the general direction of his oblivious son. Steve had made a hasty exit earlier when confronted with the possibility of culinary chores and was now, leisurely Mark was sure, stringing up the holiday lights outside. The fact that his son always _always_ headed for the garage to retrieve the ladder and the fairy lights when the oven mitts and aprons came out at Christmas time had led Mark to have serious doubts about Steve's claims of acrophobia in recent years. Left to his own resources, Mark twisted his body in a maneuver worthy of a contortionist to scratch his nose, somewhat inadequately, on his shoulder but, in an unintended side-effect, his glasses were dislodged from his nose and fell with a soft splat in the appetizing mixture. They sank slightly, listing like a sunken ship and splattered liberally with oily goo, and Mark regarded them with resignation before surrendering to the inevitable and reaching up a greasy finger for a satisfying scratch while fishing the soiled glasses out of the dressing with his other hand.

Several piles of vegetables lay unattended next to the sink, and Mark cast a jaundiced eye over them as he washed his face and hands, his holiday spirit ebbing at the realization of how much work still lay ahead. It would be nice if he received just a little help, or at least some company, from the hordes who would demolish the food in short order the next day. He hastily swallowed back the unfestive thought; after all, he had volunteered.

"Grinch Sloan," he muttered. "Roast beast is a feast I can't stand in the least," he cried in his best Dr Seuss impersonation. "Hmmm, needs some work."

With a sigh, he picked up a potato peeler and aimed it at the large heap of potatoes. "En garde."

He was only on his second potato when his attempts to recapture the appropriate festive spirit were derailed by a decidedly unseasonable shout, accompanied by the sounds of scrabbling out on the deck, followed immediately by a loud thud and the tinkling sound of glass on glass. Abandoning his culinary endeavors, Mark dashed outside, automatically scanning the area where Steve was supposed to be hanging the lights, finding only an extended string of lights dangling from the lower edge of the deck. The nightmarish image of Fred Morganstern hanging lifelessly from the eaves of the neighboring house flashed through Mark's mind with terrifying vividness, as he lurched to the edge of the deck. His gaze followed the trail of lights down to where they ended in a pool of color beside the toppled ladder. So clear was the image from that previous tragedy that it was a moment before he realized that the line was unbroken; the only movement was the slight sway of the decorative strands.

The absence of movement threatened other terrors, however, as Mark caught sight of the motionless figure lying beneath ladder. Dashing down the stairs with a speed that would have done justice to a much younger man, he dropped to his knees in the sand beside the prone form of his son, carefully shoving the ladder aside.

"Steve?" he queried urgently, as he ran a rapidly appraising eye over his son, reaching automatically for the carotid artery, observing the angle of the head and limbs, mentally assessing the probability of broken bones or neck injury. He let out his breath in a small huff of relief as Steve stirred and opened his eyes, but kept a hand on his son's shoulders, restraining him from movement.

"Lie still and let me check you out," he ordered. "Can you move your arms and legs okay?"

The slightly glazed look in Steve's eyes cleared quickly as he met his father's anxious gaze.

"I'm alright, Dad," he asserted, his voice reassuringly strong and steady. "I just got the wind knocked out of me." Gently pulling away from Mark's grasp, he sat up, stretching carefully as he did so. He smiled ruefully into his father's concerned blue eyes. "Nothing like sand for making a nice, soft landing."

As the specter of serious injury faded, Mark felt his muscles relaxing with the release of the acute tension.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, keeping a critical eye on his son.

"I'm fine," Steve assured him, rolling his head in a neck stretch to remove any kinks and illustrate the lack of damage. He moved to get up, grasping the hand his father helpfully extended, wincing slightly as his body made known its displeasure with its forceful impact with the beach. "Just a bit bruised," he admitted, seeing that his father hadn't missed the flinch or the automatic movement of his hand to his back. "And aggravated," he added, gazing in disgust at the lights dangling from the edge of the deck, hoping to divert his father's attention from his physical condition. "The whole damn set seems to have come down with me."

Having concluded that his son had indeed escaped any serious injury, Mark accepted the diversion.

"It presents an unusual effect," he suggested, a faint twinkle lightening his eyes, as he surveyed the partially outlined deck line. "Maybe we can go for a shooting star effect down to the beach?"

"Very funny," Steve grumbled. He lifted the strand of lights, checking to see if many of the bulbs had broken. "Now I'll have to reattach the damn things."

"Maybe you should take a break first," Mark suggested, concern reasserting itself. "What happened anyway?"

"I was alternating colors, and had to reach over to straighten out a twisted strand," Steve replied, "and I must have leaned too far over."

"You need to be more careful," Mark adjured him, the mental vision of Fred Morganstern briefly reasserting itself once more. "You're lucky you didn't get tangled up in those lights."

"Nah," Steve replied easily, brushing sand off himself. "The lights went one way and I went the other."

The casual assertion sparked a sudden redirection of Mark's mental processes. Surveying the evidence of the mishap, a slight frown creased his brow as he contemplated the sequence of events. "How were you holding the lights?" he asked, trying to picture the possibilities.

Steve looked up at him, surprised at the question.

"I had the bunch of strings resting on the top of the ladder. I just pulled them up as I attached them to the deck."

"And when you fell…?" Mark prompted.

"I leaned too far to the left; the ladder and I fell that way, and the lights slid off and fell straight down," Steve replied. "Why?" he asked, observing that the look of paternal concern had been replaced by the one that usually indicated that Mark was working out a mental puzzle.

"I was just wondering how Fred Morganstern managed to get himself tangled up in those lights when he fell," Mark mused ruminatively, glancing over to the neighboring house.

Startled, Steve's thoughts flitted briefly through the regretful realization that Mark had been afraid that that tragedy had been replayed with himself as the victim, and then fastened on the dilemma that his father had raised. He frowned thoughtfully as he considered his experience.

"The ladder was between me and the lights," he said slowly, trying to work out if there were alternative possibilities.

"What if you'd fallen the other way, away from where the lights were already strung?" Mark queried, obviously already mentally playing out that scenario in his mind.

"The ladder would still be between me and the lights," Steve confirmed. He met his father's eyes in mutual realization.

"Fred would have had to have fallen _around_ the ladder in order to fall into the lights," Mark declared.

"Or have wrapped the lights around his own neck," Steve agreed. "Not a very likely scenario unless it really was suicide."

"But to manage that with his brother right there? How would he have done it?" Mark wondered.

"Well, Bert said he was busy with the Santa," Steve reminded him, but his tone expressed considerable doubt that Bert, even with his head up Santa's backside, could have continued happily on with his chores without hearing or seeing anything suspicious. He had said he'd heard his brother yell once and ignored it because he was busy, but Steve couldn't shake the idea that a man, slowly dying as he hung from a light cord around his neck, would quickly have second thoughts and call desperately for help until it came.

Father and son gazed across the sand to the scene of the tragedy, mentally replaying the memory of that evening, seeing again Fred's blue-tinged face as he swung sickeningly from the strand of lights wrapped around his neck, his brother Bert distraught and incoherent with shock and grief at the discovery. They had been unable to get a clear picture of exactly what had happened, as Bert had been on the other side of the roof at the time, making adjustments to a lighted figure of Santa in his sleigh, his view blocked by the chimney. No one else had apparently been nearby at the time, and despite Mark's feeling that something about the situation wasn't quite right, there had been nothing to indicate that Fred's death had been anything other than a terrible accident – no real evidence that things were not as they seemed. But the revelation today seemed to cast a significant shadow of doubt across the previously accepted view of the incident.

"Maybe we should take another look at the file for that case," Mark suggested.

"I doubt that the DA's going to want to reopen a five-year-old accident case based on my experiences with falling off a ladder," Steve replied wryly.

"No," agreed Mark, with a slight smile, "but that doesn't mean _we_ can't look into it."

Years of experience had taught Steve the truth of that statement; once Mark had hold of an intriguing discrepancy in a case, the lack of official sanction wasn't going to prevent him from investigating further. Which meant that, notwithstanding the Christmas season and his own currently over-full caseload, Steve was going to have one more investigation to add to his list.

"Right," he sighed, with slightly rueful acquiescence. "But it might be a good idea if I finished putting up these lights first. We did want to have them up before the kids come over tomorrow."

"Good idea," Mark agreed, adding provocatively, as Steve bent over to right the ladder, "Of course, if you hadn't left it so late . . . !"

"Hey, I could have left it for tomorrow morning!" his son retorted. "At least this year I'm doing it the day _before_ we have everybody over!"

"It's a good thing we're having everybody over before Christmas, or you'd probably be putting them up on Christmas Eve," the elder Sloan laughed. His grin faded as his words sparked a new train of thought. Casting a contemplative scrutiny over the decorations adorning the Morganstern house, he queried thoughtfully, "Why were Bert and Fred putting up their decorations on Christmas Eve anyway? Bert usually had them up well before then."

Steve considered this new point, adding it to the accumulation of new evidence to be pondered. Before he could respond, however, his attention was diverted by an unmistakable odor wafted by a passing breeze.

"Uh, Dad…" he uttered, a note of minor alarm underlying his tone. "Do you smell something burning?"

Sniffing curiously, Mark's eyes widened in alarm. "My stuffing!" He turned and dashed back to the stairs leading up to the deck. Steve grinned, shaking his head as he steadied the ladder against the house once more.


	6. The Naked Truth

**Chapter Six: The Naked Truth **

Steve stretched his long, lithe body out on the recliner seat in the brand new hot-tub that he and Mark had recently purchased and sighed with pleasure. It had been an

extremely busy day for, despite aching all over, Steve had still carried out all the chores he had planned. Amongst other things, he had picked up some dry cleaning, bought some personal items and made sure that his car was full of gas (there was nothing he hated more than being low on gas). After all of that, he had been more than ready for dinner at Bob's. Steve grinned as he remembered Amanda's disgust with him when he taught CJ and Dion how to make their juice bubble by blowing down their straws.

He leant his head back onto the soft, cream cushion and reached out his left hand to press one of the buttons on the in-built keypad. Immediately, slow, gentle bubbles issued forth from the numerous nozzles set around the interior of the tub. Steve had, before getting in, changed the direction of the nozzles so that the jets played on the parts of his body which needed them the most, the soles of his feet, the backs of his thighs, his **_very_** sore derriere and shoulder blades. For a while he lay there allowing the bubbles to massage him and then depressed the button again, the jets increased their intensity.

Eventually the water and bubbles caused Steve's body to relax and, like Mark's had earlier, his thoughts travelled back five years.

_Alexis Morganstern sat on the expensively upholstered sofa staring out across the sand towards the ocean. Her body was rigid with tension and she fought to stop her gaze from drifting towards the eaves where she had so recently seen Fred hanging. Even the thought of it caused her to shudder and she pulled her cashmere wrap closer around her shoulders._

_The past thirty minutes had been the most frustrating that Steve could remember for a long time. Although, by and large, Alexis had answered his questions, Steve sensed in her an underlying current of reluctance and, finally, he had said so._

_Alexis finally turned to face Steve and said, "You are right, Steve. There is something and it isn't something that I am proud of. In fact, I am downright ashamed of myself."_

_Steve's brows knitted together in confusion at these words and Alexis, seeing this, continued, "I am ashamed because I was having an affair with Fred."_

_"Really?" Steve was very surprised for the impression that he had of the Morganstern's was that they had had a very happy marriage, "How long had it been going on?"_

_"For quite a while," Alexis replied._

_"Did your husband know about it?" Steve asked._

_"Yes, he did," Alexis answered then, seeing the look that crossed Steve's face, continued hurriedly, "No, Steve, Bert wouldn't kill Fred."_

_"What makes you so sure?" Steve responded, interested to hear what Alexis had to say._

_"Bert found out about the affair when he was going over the books." Alexis said._

_"I am afraid that I don't understand," Steve replied._

_"Fred had been embezzling money from the business to buy me gifts," Alexis spoke quietly._

_"You weren't aware if this?" Steve questioned, a little of the disbelief he felt creeping into his voice._

_"No, Lieutenant," replied Alexis, a touch of asperity in her tone at Steve's unspoken implication, "I did not know anything about it." _

_"You didn't think that the gifts Fred was giving you were more than he could afford?"_

_"I didn't even think about that," Alexis said, unaware that Steve's view of her was changing by the answer._

_"So Bert found out about the embezzlement," Steve said, "How did he find out that it was Fred that had been stealing the money?" _

_"They only have a small number of staff," Alexis replied, "so it was very easy for Bert to discover the culprit."_

_"What sort of business is it?" Steve wanted to know, adding apologetically, "Sorry, I'm sure I should know."_

_"We sell stationery, office supplies and equipment to local businesses and studios." Alexis answered._

_"Right," Steve replied, the tone in his voice clearly indicating his thoughts._

_"The quality of our goods is second to none, Lieutenant." Alexis snapped, "Bert and Fred built up the business from nothing and they almost worked themselves into the ground doing it. The name of Morganstern Supplies is known all over Los Angeles as the company to go to if you want high quality goods. We number some of the most influential companies in LA on our client list. Chief Masters purchases our products too."_

_"So what was Bert's reaction?" Steve asked._

_"As you can imagine," Alexis said, "he was incredibly upset and angry."_

_"What did he do?"_

_"He threatened to call the police and have Fred arrested unless we called a halt to the affair."_

_"And did you?" Steve wanted to know._

_"We had no choice." Alexis answered, "Fred didn't want to go to prison and none of us wanted the business dragged through the dirt from a court case."_

_"What happened about the money?"_

_For the first time that afternoon, Alexis' face showed a measure of positive emotion._

_"Bert is a wonderful person," she enthused, "and he loves me very much. The three of us sat down and had a long talk. Bert forgave the both us for the affair. He and Fred worked out a schedule of payments so that the money which had been taken would be paid back into the company."_

_"He sounds like quite a special person," Steve spoke, although his private view was that no-one could be that forgiving. _

_"He is," Alexis smiled, "that's why I can't understand . . ."_

_"Can't understand what?" Steve prompted._

_"He argued with a member of his family so badly when he was younger and he can't even bear to hear the name mentioned now. Apparently they haven't spoken since." Alexis looked across at Steve and continued, "He couldn't have killed Fred, Steve, I just know it."_

By the time Steve came out of his reverie he had been in the water so long that his skin resembled that of a seriously dried out prune. Deciding that he had better get out of the water, Steve swung his feet around until they touched the bottom of the tub and he carefully stood. It was fortunate that the hot tub was situated adjacent to the beach, for the sight of Steve's vigorous, naked body rising up from the water would have had any unsuspecting female jogger tripping over her trainers.

Treading carefully down the steps, Steve's bare feet dug into the sand allowing the grains to rise up between his toes. He wrapped a towel around his hips and made his way into his apartment, leaving deep indentations in the sand to be replaced by large, sandy footprints across his carpet in a trail to his bedroom.


	7. So Many Details

**Chapter Seven: So Many Details**

Jesse turned on a Bing Crosby Christmas CD and sat down at his kitchen table where several shopping bags, wrapping paper, name cards, and tape were already assembled. He had been busy at the hospital all day, and now that it was almost over, he decided to relax and wrap his presents. A new smile came to his face as he opened each bag and pulled out the gifts that he had chosen for his friends. This was one of his favorite times of the year. It used to be a chore to buy and send presents to members of his family who expected them because it was the polite, social thing to do. But since the year that the presents he'd purchased for his family had been stolen out of his car, he realized that gifts should come from the heart. That was the first year that BBQ Bob's had fed many of LA's homeless people, and he and Steve had felt so good about it, that now it was an annual tradition.

While humming "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer," he busied himself with cutting the paper for and wrapping the two computer games he had bought for Dion and CJ. At the store, he had watched a boy about their age playing the demo game, and a look of absolute excitement had captured the lad. He could just picture that same look on the two faces of his 'nephews'. Plus, he inwardly hoped that the boys might let him have a turn or two with the games.

Jesse opened another package and pulled out the gift that he had chosen for Mark. It was a simple gift really, a picture of Amanda, Steve, Mark, and himself taken that summer on the beach. Jesse had just bought a new camera, and he was letting Dion and CJ try it out. Most of the pictures didn't turn out very well at all, heads were chopped off or they were miserably out of focus. But this one was perfect. Steve was on the left with his arm around Amanda's shoulders, and Mark was on her right, with Jesse on the end. For some reason, looking at the photo brought another picture to his mind, one he had seen at the wake for Fred Morganstern.

_"Mark, are you sure I should go with you, I mean, they are your neighbors, I barely knew the man." Jesse had agreed to accompany the elder doctor to Fred Morganstern's wake, but was now voicing a few reservations._

_"Yes, Jesse, it's just fine." Mark smiled at his young friend. "Alisha will be there, and I'm sure that she would appreciate company from people more her own age."_

_Jesse had always thought Alisha was very attractive, and if she were home and happened to be out on the beach, Jesse would often take a slow jog past her house. She had such a sweet vivacious personality, that she was always glad to see and talk with the young doctor._

_"Well, if she does need a shoulder to cry on, then I wouldn't mind accommodating her, it's the least I could do." He grinned when he said it, and so did his older counterpart._

_A man dressed in a black suit and tie, who thanked them for coming and showed them where they would find the members of the Morganstern family, let Mark and Jesse into the house. They followed his directions and entered a large room, which faced the beach. It was very bright and sunny and precisely as Jesse would have pictured, everything neat and in its proper place, except for a decorative throw that seemed out of place covering what looked like a pile of bricks on the fireplace._

_Alexis Morganstern approached the two doctors to welcome them. "Mark, Dr. Travis, how good to see you."_

_Mark reached out his hand to her, "Alexis, please accept my deepest condolences."_

_"Thank you, Mark. I appreciate your concern."_

_"And mine, too, Mrs. Morganstern," Jesse offered._

_The older woman smiled at him, a polite smile Jesse thought, and replied, "It was very kind of both of you to come."_

_Jesse noticed Alisha sitting alone across the room on a sofa and excused himself, while Mark and Alexis carried on a conversation of mostly small talk. He slowly approached the young coed with a kind smile on his face. It didn't appear that she had been crying, but she did look slightly upset. "Alisha," he waited until she looked at him. "I'm so sorry to hear about your uncle."_

_She returned his smile and said, "Thank you, Jesse. It is tragic."_

_Jesse sat down next to her on the couch, careful not to sit too close that it would give the wrong impression. "How are you doing?"_

_"Just fine, thank you." Her eyes showed their usual warm glow of love of life._

_Jesse noticed a photograph sitting on table beside him, and he normally wouldn't have thought anything about it, but it was very obvious that someone had been cut out of the picture. The only thing that remained of the person was a heavily bandaged arm wrapped around the shoulder of another man. The two remaining men were both dressed in college football outfits, black jerseys with red and gold trim, and from what he could see of their faces, they looked like they could be twins. He couldn't help but ask, "Is this Bert and Fred?"_

_Alisha momentarily looked at the photo. "Yes, it was taken when my dad and Uncle Fred were in college at Colonial University in Baltimore. Their team was called the Ravens."_

_Jesse pointed to where the missing person would have been. "Was this one of their rivals?" he asked, trying to make a joke._

_She snickered, "No, it was their older brother, Al."_

_"Older brother?!" Jesse's expression was that of surprise. "They had an older brother?"_

_Alisha indicated for him to quiet down a little. "Yes, they did, but I wouldn't say anything to Dad, because he and Fred had a disagreement with Al a long time ago and disowned him."_

_"Really? It must have been a big disagreement."_

_"Jesse, I really don't know much about it. It's one of those things we don't talk about. Oh, I see some other people that I really should say hello to. Again, thank you for coming by." She gave him a tiny peck on his cheek. "I really appreciate it."_

_"It wasn't a problem." Before he could say anything else, she stood and went to speak with a group of people who had just arrived._

_Jesse also stood and slowly made his way across the room. He could see that Mark and Alexis were still talking and he caught a part of their conversation._

_"The contractors were supposed to have been finished by the end of November." She was looking at the pile of bricks covered with the throw and didn't sound at all happy about the situation. "I can't believe I have to deal with them on top of everything else."_

_"I didn't mean to upset you, Alexis. I'm sorry for even asking."_

_She shook her head slightly, "No, Mark, I'm the one who should apologize. This has just been so upsetting."_

_"I'm sure it has," the older man said, trying to calm her. The room had become quite full, and Mark stated, "I think we'll be going."_

_Alexis held her hand out to him, "Again, thank you for coming by."_

_As he and Jesse walked the short distance back to the beach house, Jesse asked, "What was the story behind the fireplace?"_

_"The Morganstern's are doing some remodeling." For some reason, Jesse thought the way Mark worded his comment was odd. It was as if he were answering in a far away voice, because his mind was actually occupied with some other thought._

_Not really wanting to interrupt, but yet really wanting to know, Jesse asked, "Where was Bert? I didn't see him."_

_"Alexis said that he was too upset to make an appearance."_

Jesse's thoughts returned to the present, and he looked at the photo once more. These were his three best friends on the face of the earth. But they were more than friends, they were family. And he was lucky to have them.

OOO

Amanda had tucked CJ and Dion in bed for the night, and had plopped down on her couch, every bit as tired as they were. They had spent the day finishing Christmas shopping at the mall, and then had met the gang at Bob's for supper. It was rare that she had time to herself, especially during the busy holiday season, but tonight, she seemed to have a few spare minutes to just relax.

As she stretched her feet up on the coffee table, she had to smile. She never allowed the boys to use it as a footstool, and if they knew that she did it, she would be in big trouble. But they would never know because they were both asleep before their heads hit the pillows. She closed her eyes, and rubbed her head, beginning with her temples and working her way back into her hair. The Morganstern murder was still very much on her mind and she couldn't help but recall the conversation she'd had with Alexis Morganstern while they waited for her husband, Bert, to finish talking with Steve.

_"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Morganstern." Amanda spoke in a comforting voice._

_The older woman remained emotionless, as if it was uncouth to shed even a few tears over her brother-in-law's sudden death, or maybe, now that she was over the initial shock, she didn't care at all; Amanda wasn't sure. "Thank you, Dr. Bentley."_

_"Could I get you a cup of coffee or a soda?" Amanda had come by the station to drop off a file for Steve and had found Alexis Morganstern sitting by herself. She thought that the woman might like some company._

_"No, thank you. I shouldn't think my husband would keep me waiting here very much longer. We need to make arrangements for Fred. There are just so many details to take care of." The woman was dressed fashionably, as always, but the make-up that covered her face didn't hide her real age._

_"Yes, I'm sure there are. But the funeral director will help you with the paperwork and any correspondence with the insurance company." Amanda realized that she was perhaps being a bit too intrusive. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Morganstern; it's none of my business if Fred even had an insurance policy. I was just trying to be helpful."_

_The older woman smiled slightly, in a rare moment of showing even a minor amount of affection. "It's quite all right, Doctor. The insurance money," she added in a quiet voice, as if it were a distant thought. "I hadn't really even considered that."_

_Not wanting to appear too anxious, but also extremely curious, Amanda commented, "So, there will be some money to help with the expenses?"_

_"Yes, both Bert and Fred had identical policies, well close enough to identical. They made each other beneficiaries so that the money could be funneled back into the business if anything happened to either . . . "_

_Alexis Morganstern's voice trailed off. She had become a master at displaying in public only the emotions she wanted displayed, and if she finished her sentence, she might lose control._

_Amanda placed her hand on the woman's arm and smiled a warm smile. She tried to change the subject. "What kind of a company is it?"_

_"They supply elegant stationery, office supplies, and equipment to several local businesses and studios. Bert and Fred generated most of the business themselves, wanting to serve only the proper clientele. They had a small staff and catered to the needs of those whom they served."_

_"I see," Amanda answered sweetly, knowing full well that even she herself might not be considered the 'proper clientele.' _

_Mrs. Morganstern continued, "It is an extremely successful business, they had both worked very hard to keep it that way, and it was prudent to take the life insurance policies out."_

_Amanda hadn't said a word in judgement, but the woman kept rambling. "The policies are for identical cash values, but Bert had to pay higher premiums because he is a smoker." She said the last words with such a tone of disdain, that Amanda didn't have to ask her opinion of the habit, but the woman continued, "I'm so glad that he finally gave it up."_

_"Mark mentioned to me that Bert had quit as a Christmas present for Alisha," Amanda said._

_Alexis gave her what could only have been called a condescending smile. "He quit back in August," she said, "and not for Alisha, but to keep his premiums down. His term life insurance policy matures when he turns fifty. He'll need a different policy then, and he doesn't want to pay sixty percent more because he's a smoker. He just told Alisha he did it for her because he knew that would make her happy."_

_"Well, whatever the reason," Amanda said, trying to keep the conversation going now that Alexis was feeling talkative, "medically, it was a good decision."_

Amanda opened her eyes. That was all she had been able to ask the woman, because her husband had suddenly appeared, finished with his interview, and the couple was on their way.

Amanda sighed. The Morganstern's were certainly elusive people, so it shouldn't be unexpected that the clues to Fred Morganstern's murder had turned out to be that way also. She glanced at the clock on her mantle, and decided that a hot bubble bath would be a suitable ending to her day.


	8. Emergency Surgery

**Chapter Eight: Emergency Surgery **

His patient, it had to be said, could best be described as being in critical condition. Its body was squashed and misshapen, with trickles of blood oozing out from its sides. Two fleshy legs angled at a crazy, not to mention painful, position and that awfully twisted neck.

Sighing, Mark took a deep breath and then lifted the turkey, for the seventh time, out of the pan. It was no good. However much he tried, whatever positions he came up with to squash the bird into it, this wretched turkey was _not_ going to fit into even his largest roasting pan.

_Poor thing_, he thought, giving the luckless bird a commiserating pat on its generously fleshed thigh. _Even Jess would struggle to put this broken, sorry body back together again. Of course_, he mused fondly, _if not for that boy's appetite, I could make do with a bird half the size._

Placing the hapless turkey back on the worktop, Mark took a deep drink of reviving coffee while ruefully studying California's most rebellious Christmas dinner. This, he decided, needed long and careful thought. And more coffee, _definitely_ more coffee.

Refilling his mug, he then cast a speculative glance through the den towards the CD player,

where Bing's timeless classic extolled the joys of a white Christmas.

"Sorry, Bing, but there isn't much chance of that happening in Southern California." Mark sighed – a wry smile lifting one side of his mouth as another, rather more appropriate tune came to mind. Well, not appropriate for Christmas – but certainly appropriate for the task which now faced him. Even though he was home for the holidays, excluded from Community General's seasonal workload, it seemed as though Dr Mark Sloan would still be conducting some rather urgent surgery.

A few minutes later, Mark soft-shoe-shuffled his way back into the kitchen, conducting the orchestra while Louis Armstrong warned of the gory dangers of Mack the Knife. Outside, two figures paused in their afternoon walk along the beach and traded rather alarmed glances. Among a row of brightly lit, cheerily musical beach-houses, one stood markedly out from the others. Instead of joyous carols, the house of Mark Sloan rang loud with sounds of bloodshed and murder. More worrying still, its occupant stood by the kitchen window, briskly sharpening a _very_ large knife.

Trading another alarmed glance, Bob and Lauren Petrie continued their walk back to their house – with, it had to be said, rather more speed than before.

Happily unaware of the alarm he'd caused his new neighbors, Mark was starting to enjoy himself.

"Right then, class," he said brightly, turning to address a row of vegetables on a nearby worktop. "Who can tell me the first, rather important, procedure I should perform before commencing surgery on poor Mr. Gobble here?"

Feigning disappointment at the silence that followed, Mark then beamed at a small butternut squash – wryly wondering what his young protégé would make of being transformed into a talking vegetable.

"That's right, Jesse, well done! Yes, students, of course, it's the anesthesia," he went on, using his steak tenderizer to demonstrate, and in doing so sending 'Mr. Gobble' into merciful oblivion.

With his patient now safely anaesthetized, Mark turned back to re-address his row of students.

"Now pay attention, class, as I make the first incision to amputate Mr. Gobble's . . . um . . . drumsticks . . . speed is of the essence in surgery like this . . . fluid loss is a real danger . . .and Mr. Gobble's going to have enough of a shock when I administer the post operative stuffing, without loss of fluid making him feel worse . . . so you need to make the incisions quick and decisive . . . don't worry about hurting him, he's safely dreaming of chasing hen turkeys round the farmyard . . . you'll notice that I'm doing one drumstick at a time, suturing the wounds as I go along . . . there are two reasons for this . . . one is to obviously keep all Mr. Gobble's lovely juices inside . . . the second is . . . well, if truth be told here, class, I've never actually operated on a turkey before . . . so I guess I'm learning as much from this . . . um . . . particular surgery as you are . . . "

Now genuinely engrossed in his work, Mark carefully eased away the amputated drumstick –

his grin of triumph fading somewhat as he realized his students' attention had inevitably wandered. Susan Sprout had rolled into the sink, Colin Carrot had rolled over to canoodle with Polly Parsnip, while Bobby Broccoli and Curly Cabbage appeared to have fallen asleep.

The ever-faithful Jesse was still there, though – prompting another fond pat on top of its head.

"Thanks, Jess, I know I can always count on you," Mark chuckled, enjoying this continuing joke – a joke which, he'd already decided, the real Jesse would _never_ hear about.

On noticing the time, Mark then sighed – realizing that the time for fun and games were over. If he didn't get this turkey in the oven soon, they'd be making do with just the vegetables. And he shuddered to think how Jesse, or Steve for that matter, would react to _that_.

Thirty minutes later, surgery complete, and with Mr. Gobble recovering in a nice warm oven, Mark placed two perfectly cooked drumsticks aside while studying the rest of his preparations. Even with Jesse's notorious appetite, Mark could now see that he'd rather overdone the food. So a generous platter of mixed vegetables also found their way into the 'spares' box. No doubt Steve would quite happily work his way through them in his little brother's absence.

With uncanny timing, he'd just finished washing and drying his hands when the telephone rang. "Hello? . . . Oh, hi! . . . No, of course you're not troubling me . . . A favor? Well, sure, if I can . . . I have, yes . . . Oh, they are? Oh, that's great, you must really be looking forward to seeing them . . . Oh, you didn't . . . Yes, I can see your problem . . . Well, don't worry, I have plenty of spare stuff here . . . Tell you what, why don't I just stick everything in a box and bring it over . . . Sure, I can come now . . . Okay, see you in a few minutes . . . Don't worry, it's no trouble at all . . . See you in a few minutes . . ."

Hanging up the phone, Mark then smiled – grateful that he wasn't the only one with turkey trouble. "Sorry, Steve, but these spares are needed elsewhere," he chuckled, packing them into a box.

Checking once more that Mr. Gobble was resting comfortably in the oven, Mark picked the box up – adding platefuls of sausage rolls and mini pizzas before leaving on a mission of neighborly mercy.

The door was opened at his first knock, by a bath-robed figure whose head was wrapped in a large towel. After a few more moments of vigorous rubbing, the towel then fell to drape across slender shoulders – bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile greeting him from under tousled, sun-streaked hair.

"Mark !! Oh, thank you! You are a lifesaver! Well, of course, you really _are_ a lifesaver, but well, you know what I mean! I really can't thank you enough for helping me out with this! I'm really at my wits end!"

Holding up a hand to stop the flustered words, Mark offered his neighbor a fatherly calming smile – one that faded slightly at the less than pleasant odor which now wafted through the open door.

Seeing this reaction, Alisha Morganstern winced too while ruefully shrugging her shoulders. "Oh, Mark, I know!" she went on, tugging her robe further around her while still drying her hair. "I've had three showers so far this afternoon, and I still smell like something the cat dragged in!"

"Now honey, it really isn't that bad," Mark assured her, ever the gallant gentleman. Even so, it took real effort for him not to grimace as he followed Alisha into an eerily smoky house. Despite all his efforts, it soon proved impossible for him not to cough from the acrid, irritating fumes.

"Oh dear, yes, that's another job I need to get done before the holidays," Alisha admitted ruefully. "I'll really need to get the chimney cleared out and cleaned while I can get hold of a maintenance man. I tried to start a fire earlier, just to, well, you know, take the chill off the room this morning, and well, the next thing I know is, the house is filled with this awful putrid smoke!"

"Well, yes, if your chimney's blocked, that's certainly something you need to do," Mark replied, curiosity and that ever gallant desire to help compelling him to peer carefully up the chimney.

To his surprise, the stack and flue were completely clean, with no immediate signs of blockage. But it was his head that inadvertently made another surprising, if rather painful, discovery. The fireplace was a lot more shallow than it appeared to be – hence a rather muffled cry of "Ouch!" as Mark's head collided none too gently with the fireplace's rear wall.

"Mark? Oh dear, Mark, are you alright?" Alisha asked anxiously when he finally emerged, grimacing while gingerly rubbing the side of his head.

Not wanting to upset her any further, Mark smiled back at her while carefully nodding his reassurance. "I'm fine, honey, just knocked my head while I was looking up that chimneystack," he replied, frowning once more, but in puzzlement now rather than discomfort as he glanced back at the fireplace.

"But that really is odd, I couldn't see any signs of an obstruction. The flue is completely clear, and although it looks so large, this fireplace isn't nearly as deep as it appears." That puzzle, however, would have to remain unsolved, since Alisha's attention now lay elsewhere.

"I'm sorry, Mark," she said at last, sheepishly explaining the cause for her sudden amusement. "It's just that watching you peer up that chimney reminded me of one of my favorite movies, that part in Mary Poppins, when that funny chimney sweep clears out that family's chimney . . ."

As Mark burst out laughing, Alisha frowned then smiled and added a tentative afterthought. "You know, Mark, even though that movie was made so many years ago, there's an awfully strong resemblance between you and that chimney sweep!"

Grateful to see her looking happier, albeit at his expense, Mark grinned back at her and shrugged. "Well, I can't see it myself, but Steve once told me the same thing!" he chuckled, patting his waist. "Mind you, I doubt whether I'd fit into that many chimney flues!"

"Oh now, Mark, there's nothing wrong with your waistline!" Alisha insisted, playfully hugging him. "Besides, this is all testimony to your wonderful home-style cooking!"

"Thank you, my dear flattery will get you everywhere!" Mark retorted, winking back at her.

"And speaking of my wonderful home-style cooking, we'd better get these boxes unpacked."

Leading him into the kitchen, Alisha took in his armload of boxes with wide, appreciative eyes. "Oh, Mark, this food looks lovely!" she enthused, casting him a grateful if rather awkward smile. "And so much of it too! Are you sure you can spare all this from your own dinner tonight? I mean, you're going to need plenty to eat yourself, especially with Jesse coming!"

Laughing at this joke over his young friend's infamous appetite, Mark then gently patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, Alisha, believe me, I've enough food in for tonight to feed several full size armies." _Or one pint size doctor_, he mused, smiling fondly as he voiced an equally lighthearted afterthought. "And if the worst comes to the worst, there's plenty of bags of corn chips to keep him happy!"

"Well, just so long as I'm not leaving you short," Alisha replied, casting him another grateful smile. "I thought I had everything organized for the holidays, then I get today's phone call from Mom, telling me she and Dad want to spend Christmas with me, and, well, as you can imagine, Mark, since I had volunteered to work at the domestic violence hotline until five on Christmas Day, I was getting in a bit of a panic!"

"Well, I'm just glad I could help," Mark smiled, proud of the young lady he had watched grow up next door to him. Alisha not only worked as a family lawyer, but she also volunteered her time with the hotline and the American Red Cross to help families in crisis. He hesitated for a moment before asking gently, "So your . . . um . . . I – I mean, your parents are back together again now, Alisha?"

To his relief, Alisha grinned back at him, showing no sign of annoyance at this gentle probing. "Yes, Mark, they are, and they have been for about four years," she replied, seemingly rather surprised herself as she shrugged her shoulders. "I must admit I was pretty stunned too when my mother told me! I couldn't believe it either! I – I mean, they were going through such problems, such strain, when my uncle Fred died . . . that, well, I guess after six months of stress and strain between them, it was inevitable that they split up."

Grateful for the presence of an understanding ear, Alisha glanced across at Mark and smiled slightly. "My dad was having a really bad time, with none of us realizing what he was going through. I guess in medical terms, he . . . well, for want of a better word, he just had a nervous breakdown. And I suppose Mom still felt enough for him to look after him when he turned up in Baltimore. By all accounts, he just showed up on her doorstep one night, and she took him in to take care of him. It took a while for him to get himself back together again, but… well, that's all in the past now . . . The main thing is that Dad and Mom are back together and making another go at things, although . . ."

Alisha then fell awkwardly silent, as if belatedly realizing that she'd betrayed a sworn secret. "Mark, I – I know you and Steve will be busy yourselves over the holidays," she said at last. "But if you _do_ meet Mom and Dad at some point, could you not mention anything about my uncle? Only Dad's still not quite right, if you know what I mean, and . . .well, Mom doesn't want him upset. He's made so much progress since moving back with Mom that… well…"

To her relief, Mark was already nodding his understanding – just as she'd guessed and hoped he would. "Don't worry, Alisha, I won't mention a word of it, not even to Steve," he assured her gently. "And if you need any more help over the holiday, medical or otherwise, just call me, okay?"

Alisha smiled back and nodded – grateful, not for the first time, to have Mark Sloan as her neighbor. In the absence of her own father, he'd proved to be the ideal substitute – a real and true friend, and, not for the first time, she wished she'd had someone like him to turn to when she had moved back to Baltimore. "I will, Mark and thanks again for helping me out with all this lovely food."

"You're welcome," Mark smiled back at her, returning her grateful hug before checking his watch. "Well, honey, if you're okay now, I'd better get back to prepare my own family feeding frenzy."

"Yes, I can imagine," Alisha giggled, seeing him to the door with her own light hearted advice. "And tell Jesse to at least _try_ and leave some leftovers for the rest of you!"

"I'll try. Whether he takes any notice, of course, is another matter entirely!" Mark chuckled, winking mischievously back at her before, with a final hug for Alisha, he returned home.


	9. Missed Chances

**Chapter Nine: Missed Chances **

Jesse straightened his tie in front of the mirror in his bedroom and then pulled the comb through his hair. It didn't really matter whether he combed it or not, it would soon flop into its usual style, but at least he would know he started out neat.

His apartment was devoid of all but the most basic of decorations, just a few in the window so that it looked like he was home, even when he wasn't, and although he knew it was silly to deck the whole place out, somehow it seemed depressing and dull as it was. Christmas was a time for happy thoughts, making memories and being with those you loved. He hoped that this year, at home with his mom, he would do all three, but however hard he tried he couldn't get the Morganstern Christmas, as he had come to call it, out of his mind.

Fred's death still played on Mark's mind, Jesse knew that, and he had seen the way the older man would sometimes look lingeringly in the direction of the house next to his own. If he was honest Jesse thought more about Alisha than what had actually happened, he still missed her, but as was often the case, he hadn't appreciated that he would do so until she was ready to leave.

_"I just don't see why you have to go." Jesse was sitting on a silver velvet stool in front of a kidney shaped dressing table in Alisha Morganstern's dressing room. He knew that he was sounding like a sulky child, but he suddenly realised that he was going to really miss the pretty, blonde young woman from the house next to Mark's and, as today was the day she was leaving town, his timing was lousy._

_"Because my mom needs me. Jesse, I can go to law school in Baltimore, get my degree, no problem. Dad was an alumnus there, I even get a scholarship." Alisha had smiled at him then, and carefully folded a soft pink sweater and placed it in her suitcase._

_"But I'm gonna miss you."_

_"Well then, maybe you should have decided that about six months or so ago when I was planning on living here all the time. I like you, Jesse, really like you, but my mom needs me way more than you do." This time it was a deep blue pair of jeans which were laid neatly into the case._

_"I know Colonial has a good law school, but this is your home. The house is just great, and the beach, the sand, the surf…" He trailed off. They were the reasons he loved living here, maybe they didn't mean as much to Alisha._

_"It won't work you know," Her eyes had sparkled and Jesse had blushed. She touched his shoulder, and a shudder had passed through him._

_"What?" The innocent gaze he placed on her just caused laughter but she didn't remove her hand._

_"That look. You and Steve, you both try it and it doesn't work. Jess, I've lived in dormitories for the last four years, and if you were to look at pictures of this house when Mom and Dad moved into it, and then walk around it now, you would think you were in the wrong place. She has changed it so much that … well it isn't home any more." Her voice was wistful and Jesse placed his own hand over hers. "You know, she even decorated this room, took everything out and changed it all around, without asking me first."_

_"I'm sorry." And he had been, very sorry. She was a beautiful girl, and he knew what it was like when parents took you for granted, or just ignored your feelings altogether._

_"Thank you. She doesn't mean to hurt me, she just doesn't think. But maybe if we share a house together for a while we can get to know each other. Parents are special, Jesse, they help you become who you are, whether good or bad, and I really want to feel that I tried to be her friend as well as her daughter. She doesn't make friends very easily, I don't think.__ Dad, I always thought he'd be ok on his own, but not her." There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment as Alisha caught her breath. "I … I don't even know where Dad is, so I have to be with Mom, for me as well as her."_

_Jesse had just nodded his head and then he had moved in and kissed her gently on the lips. The kiss had become more passionate, and for a while all conversation and packing had been forgotten. When they came up for air he had looked into her eyes and smiled. "She will be lucky to have a friend like you."_

_"Thank you and if it doesn't work, or it works really well and she is happy on her own, I can get my own place." She had paused for a moment and then began to speak again. "I have family there too, Uncle Al, he sounds like my kind of guy, not afraid to speak his mind, opinionated, but in a way that is open for contradiction, I'm looking forward to having some great arguments with him." She had laughed, and the sound had warmed his heart. They hadn't talked about the death of her uncle, and Jesse wasn't sure whether or not to bring it up, but just before she closed the lid on her suitcase Alisha began speaking about him herself._

_"Jess, I need to ask you a favor." He hadn't been sure, but it seemed as if she was suddenly uncertain of what to say next._

_"Sure, anything, you know that." He had moved a little closer once more, and gently pulled her to him._

_"__I really did love my uncle, and I feel badly that even though I was here when he died I couldn't help him …"_

_"I know that. It must be hard, having an uncle that looks just like your dad. And then suddenly he is gone." Jesse had stopped talking for a moment, her dad was gone now too, and so he hurried on. "What is it you want to ask me?" Alisha hadn't moved out of his arms and he was enjoying the feel of her next to him._

_"I don't want to leave him alone …" tears filled her eyes then and she brushed at them roughly. "Will you … if I leave you some cash … will you put flowers on his grave some time?"_

_Jesse had felt very humble that she had asked him and he'd nodded. "No problem, and if you leave me your e-mail address I'll let you know when I do it, and what I get, ok?"_

_"Thank you, thank you very much." The tears had escaped then and Jesse had pulled her onto his lap as he sat down on the side of the bed. She had cried on his shoulder for a little while, but then had composed herself and completed her packing. _

They hadn't said very much after that, and Jesse had placed a chaste kiss on her cheek as he left the house. Their only contact since had been by e-mail, but he had done as he was asked, and every now and then a few dollars would arrive in the mail for him.

Jesse checked his watch, he had time to stop off at the florists on his way to Mark's, today of all days, it would be fitting for Fred to have something nice on top of him.


	10. Birds of a Feather

**Chapter Ten: Birds of a Feather **

"No legs."

Jesse glanced up from his inspection of a tempting platter of candied yams to see Amanda gazing pensively in his direction. There was a brief, cool silence, then Jesse countered, a little testily, "Not everyone needs to be tall you know, Amanda. And I happen to think that I'm very well proportioned for my height."

Amanda blinked, then gave him an exasperated stare. "I was talking about the turkey," she pointed out impatiently. "And of course you're – how did I get drawn into this? Your legs are fine. The turkey, on the other hand, has none."

"Oh." Jesse looked mollified, narrowing a stony glare at Steve when he snickered. "Yeah – it looks kind of – sad – doesn't it? Deformed."

"Kind of like one of Dad's charity cases," Steve observed, reaching for a bowl of mashed potatoes. "Maybe he just had to take it under his wing."

Jesse groaned theatrically. "Ouch." He turned the platter this way and that, trying to find the best angle, then shook his head. "Just doesn't look right. I'm glad the kids aren't here – might traumatize them or something."

Steve sipped his water. "Or give them a warped sense of bird anatomy. Anyway, I know how you feel, Jess. I'm a leg man myself." He winked.

Jesse wiggled his eyebrows. "Well, at least it has a really big – "

"Ahem!" Amanda cleared her throat pointedly, turning a quelling, frigid stare on first one, then the other.

Jesse and Steve exchanged lascivious grins before marshalling their faces into innocent, decorous expressions.

Amanda shook her head indulgently, examining a basket of rolls. "I'm surrounded by juveniles," she intoned, with a martyred sigh. "Heaven help me when CJ and Dion reach that age."

"Oh, I think CJ and Dion have already reached their age," Mark assured her, reaching for the bottle of wine. "Or the same developmental stage anyway. Ladies first." He tilted the bottle over Amanda's glass.

Amanda smiled primly. "Thanks, Mark – it's good to know that I'm dining with at least _one_ gentleman."

"Say, who's gonna pass the uh –" Jesse paused, shaking his head at the turkey again. "You know, I've heard of flightless birds, but this is my first experience with a legless bird."

"All right, all right." Mark stood to start serving from the turkey platter. "They wouldn't fit in the roasting pan, so I cut them off."

Jesse whistled. "Harsh."

"That's right," Steve sat back to wait his turn. "You might want to keep close track of all your limbs. If they don't fit at your table setting, he might just decide to lop them off. Those surgeons are ruthless."

"So where are the legs, anyway?" Jesse prodded, reaching for his water. "They just sort of gather themselves up and run away?"

Mark selected some choice pieces of meat and shuffled them onto Amanda's plate. "In a manner of speaking. I took them over to Alisha Morganstern."

"Alisha Morganstern?" Jesse sat up straight in surprise. His water went down the wrong way and he dissolved into a paroxysm of coughing. Steve obligingly reached over to thump him between the shoulder blades. "Alisha Morganstern?" he repeated huskily when he had caught his breath. "I didn't know she – thanks for the help, Steve, but that's enough with the thumping. I didn't even know she was back in town." Jesse shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "Next time _you_ save my life instead, okay, Amanda? I think this guy about severed my spine."

Steve reached for his own water. "Nice. Next time I'll sit here and watch you turn blue."

"Nothing personal, buddy, but you just don't have a physician's delicate touch." He coughed again to clear his throat. "I think my scapula is shaking hands with my clavicle."

"I could show you a cop's delicate touch - how would that be?"

"Boys."

Steve and Jesse subsided, Steve snagging a roll from the nearby basket and biting it in two, and Jesse surreptitiously picking at the stuffing.

"I'm just surprised, you know?" Jesse explained, popping a morsel into his mouth. "We had a pretty good friendship going until she moved to Maryland. We still keep in touch, or at least I thought we did. I just got an e-mail from her last month, and she didn't mention anything about coming home."

"Why did she move to Maryland?" Amanda accepted her turkey with a smile for Mark.

Jesse shrugged. "To be with her Mom. Her mom moved there after the marriage broke up. Her family was all there and I guess there wasn't really anything holding her here."

"You need family after something like that," Amanda reflected soberly, swatting Jesse's hand automatically away from the stuffing.

Jesse obediently retracted his hand. "Yeah. It was really hard on everybody, I guess. But Alisha's tough, you know? She landed on her feet. Went to Colonial University Law School, did good there, too."

"Really?" Mark raised his brows. "That's her father's Alma Mater."

"Yeah, I know." Jesse gratefully accepted his turkey from Mark and scouted for the gravy. "His, and both his brothers', too. They all played football there. Bert was more than a little proud to have his daughter get her diploma there, I guess."

"_Both_ brothers." Mark paused in forking out Steve's turkey and frowned. "Brothers? I thought there was only Fred."

"Oh. No." Jesse drowned his turkey in a small lake of gravy and searched the table for the potatoes. "There was a third one. I guess nobody talked about him much. I saw a college football picture at Fred's wake and asked Alisha about it. The other brother had been cut out of it, which left just his arm remaining. He was disowned - some kind of trouble - I don't really know a lot about it. I got the feeling Alisha didn't either. I remember when she left for Baltimore, Alisha was really looking forward to meeting her uncle Al, but not long after that, I got an e-mail saying his work had taken him out of the country."

Mark shook his head, passing the plate on to Steve. "Families can be cruel. I can't imagine what any child could do that would be so horrible that you would disown them. Never want to see them again."

"That's right," Jesse nodded solemnly, digging a spoon into the candied yams. "You always manage to look happy to see Steve. That's fatherly love, huh? Hey!" He dropped the spoon as something snapped briskly across the back of his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jess." Steve smiled sweetly. "I thought you were choking again. I must have aimed high."

Jesse made a face at him and turned back to his yams, drizzling a generous portion of syrup over them. "Anyway, has everybody been served? I'm starving."

"There's news," Steve murmured under his breath.

Jesse opened his mouth to retort, but Amanda cut him off, taking Mark's hand on the one side of her in one of her own, and Steve's, on the other side, in the other. "I think it's time we said grace." She gave them her most brilliant and implacable smile. "Mark, would you like to start?"

Jesse closed his eyes in appreciation as he swallowed a mouthful of turkey. "Mark," he said sincerely, "For a mutant bird, that is one tasty turkey."

"Thank you, Jesse." Mark unfolded his own napkin and spread it over his lap. "And it fed two families, in a way. What could be more holiday than that?"

Jesse chewed thoughtfully. "Pumpkin pie, maybe."

"I brought the pie for dessert," Amanda assured him. "If you eat all your vegetables."

"Hey, I like my vegetables," Jesse offered virtuously. He pointed his fork at Steve. "It's that guy you've got to look out for."

"You know, it's a shame the boys couldn't be here, Amanda," Mark smiled as he cut into his own turkey. "I think the two grown boys behave better when they're around."

Amanda chuckled appreciatively, then furrowed her brows. "Didn't Alisha want to join us, Mark? There's no reason for her to eat turkey legs all alone."

"I guess not, honey. Maybe she had other plans. But the turkey legs are actually for Christmas." Mark meticulously arranged his stuffing on top of his sliced turkey. "Her Mom called the other day to make plans for Christmas, and she'd volunteered to work the domestic violence hotline all day." He chuckled. "She innocently asked me if I had any secrets for quick-cooking a turkey, and I decided it would be safer to offer her some of our spare parts. I'd hate to think of Alexis nobly trying to gnaw their way through some flash-fried poultry."

"That was nice of you." Amanda helped herself to some more vegetable casserole. "It would have been awfully hard for her to find someone to cover for her on Christmas Day, and there is no way she would have been able to prepare Christmas Dinner if she was working."

Jesse grinned. "Worse still, she might have tried. Too bad she didn't come today - it would have been nice to see her again. And she's missing a great spread." Jesse cleared a smidgen of space on his plate and balanced yet another roll precariously on the razor's edge of rim. "I've got to give her a call. Catch up."

"That's true - she's lived in California before, must have old friends . . . " Amanda buttered a slice of brown bread. "Is her father still here?"

Jesse stopped chewing. "Oh. No. I thought you knew. Her parents got back together. In Baltimore."

"Oh." Amanda looked surprised. "How unusual. Well, I guess that's a happy ending."

Mark nodded thoughtfully, adding butter to his mashed potatoes. "Yes, it's not uncommon for a shock and a tragedy like that to tear couples apart. Resolving it is harder. And much more unusual. They broke up almost…Steve, how long was it after Fred's death? You must remember."

Steve nodded, his eyes suddenly fixed on his plate. "Yeah. I remember." He was quiet a moment. "It was about six months after Fred's…after Fred died." He stared at the mountain of his mashed potatoes. He remembered the day well, and it always made him feel obscurely guilty. It seemed a shame when you couldn't do for your neighbors what you did all the time for strangers - solve their murders.

_He remembered it with perverse clarity, partly because he had been busy doing a little murdering of his own. He had had an idea about using his day off to re-pot some of the plants that lined the patio as a surprise for his Dad. It was a beautiful day, and it was something his father kept meaning to get around to and never quite managed, so the timing had seemed auspicious. But he soon discovered why he never dabbled in that sort of thing. He seemed to possess a definite brown thumb. He stared at the forlorn disaster that represented a now listless looking fuschia plant, drooping pathetically over the lip of its pot, and winced. Or maybe even a black thumb. _

_Probably because he had been secretly wishing for some sort of distraction to pull him away from his well-intended, but calamitous gardening attempts, something easy like, say, a double murder, he noticed immediately the sound of raised voices next door. He'd hesitated for a moment, wiping his grimy hands on his coveralls, trying to gauge what would be appropriate action in an official capacity and what would be just plain interfering. A particularly loud shouting match, followed by a loud crash, had him resolutely heading to his bedroom for his gun and badge when suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. He stopped too, watching the house anxiously, then approaching, abandoning the abused fuschia to its fate. He was just about to go through the gate to next door when he saw Bert's car pull out of the driveway. Still poised for action, he saw a distraught Alexis come out onto the deck a few minutes later. He had sagged with relief. Well, everybody seemed to be alive and healthy, anyway. Nobody seemed to need a homicide cop. He returned slowly to the potted plants and grimaced at the sight of them. Well, unless his father wanted to have him arrested for wanton plantslaughter, that is. _

_All had been quiet for a couple of days, but it had been an uneasy kind of quiet - almost foreboding. Then one afternoon when Bert left, he didn't return. He had never come back. _

Steve frowned at his potatoes, poking them with his fork until the little crater of gravy erupted and ran down the sides, like volcano lava. It wasn't that he felt responsible for their marriage breaking up - he knew there was nothing he could have done about that. It was just that…well…it had seemed a shame, is all. He wished that he could have done more.

_"Steve." _

Steve jerked his head up. His father's tone told him that this was not the first time he had addressed him.

"Careful, buddy," Jesse taunted him around a mouthful. "You snooze, you lose. I just snagged the last cranberry muffin."

Steve gave him a sour look. "Don't you have any food at home?"

Jesse shook his head. "Not like this. Anyway, Mark asked you a question - about the Morgansterns."

Steve met Mark's eyes questioningly, a little embarrassed by his lapse in attention.

Mark eyed him searchingly. "They'd been fighting, hadn't they? Isn't that what you told me?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I heard them while I was outside one afternoon. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - Bert had told me a little while before that that they were having problems. Seems Alexis was spending Fred's insurance money on redecorating the house, and he was pretty hot about it. That money was supposed to help keep the business afloat until they could find someone to manage Fred's clients and get things back in the black." He smiled ruefully. "Was a little more personal information than I wanted, actually." He neatly snatched a slice of banana bread just as Jesse reached for it and smiled smugly at his disgruntled expression.

"Well, I knew there were money problems of some kind…" Mark expertly confiscated the fruit compote before either of them could grab the last of it and offered it to Amanda with a flourish. Amanda accepted it with a gracious smile. "That's why I was so surprised to find out that they hadn't sold the house."

Jesse actually paused his chewing. "They didn't?"

"No. Just rented it. That's why Alisha was able to move in. Oh!" Mark threw down his napkin. "I don't believe it!"

Forks suspended in mid bite.

"Mark?" Amanda questioned curiously.

"Dad?" Steve leaned forward, ready for one of his father's flashes of brilliant insight. "Did you figure something out?"

"We forgot to give a toast!"

There was a chorus of disappointed groans, and Mark clicked his tongue as he topped off their wine glasses. "Now, now, what's a holiday dinner without a toast? Lift your glasses - come on, it won't hurt you to stop chewing for just a second - " he eyed Steve and Jesse dubiously. "Always assuming that you _do_ chew." He waited until everyone had obediently lowered their forks and raised their glasses and smiled, looking from one to the other with a sudden burst of heartfelt affection. "To families, whether related by blood or not," he pledged, "and to holidays, on whatever date we celebrate them."

"Here here."

Four glasses clinked in perfect accord.


	11. Once Upon a Midnight Cheery

**Chapter 11: Once Upon a Midnight Cheery **

The house was quiet after the hustle and bustle of the day. Amanda had taken CJ, Dion and their gifts home. Ms. June, the choir director, had dropped them off from the church Christmas party, and they had been so sugared up that opening their Christmas presents from Steve, Mark, and Jesse had sent them into overdrive. Mercifully, by the time she was ready to leave, they had worn themselves out completely and she had to contend only with two sleeping rag dolls instead of the wild barbarians who had arrived just after dinner.

Jesse had eaten so much that when the time came for him to go, he had had to be pulled from the depths of the sofa before managing to totter, Humpty Dumpty-like, to his car, promising, or perhaps threatening, Amanda that he would come over to join the boys in playing the video games he had given them. Steve, too, had eaten more than his fair share and was lying, his bare feet dangling over the arm of the sofa, watching the DVD that the boys had given to him. It was a very funny Bond-esque comedy which, under normal circumstances, would have had Steve in hysterics but the amount of food he had consumed restricted his reactions to the occasional throaty chuckle.

Mark peered over the top of the computer monitor and smiled. Steve so rarely managed to wind down and it was really good to see him relax, even if it was a food induced relaxation. Leaving his son to enjoy the film, Mark returned his gaze to the screen in front of him. When he had the time, Mark enjoyed surfing the net as he found that it freed his mind from the day to day minutiae of his demanding profession and helped him to relax. During the evening, Steve and Jesse had got to discussing their school days and all the people that they hadn't seen for many years. Inevitably, there were people that they decided they would like to see again, mainly girls, and some who they wouldn't want to see this side of purgatory. This got Mark thinking and he typed in ' onto the screen, clicked the 'go' button and, almost instantaneously, was rewarded with a very colourful homepage. On impulse, he brought up Colonial University to see if there was anything worthwhile there. There were a great many names on the list of old alumni. He ignored these and went to the images section and to his surprise, there were hundreds. Some were of trips, some of parties but the vast majority were of the Ravens, the university football team. Mark looked at photo after photo of fit young men in jet black playing gear, trimmed in crimson and gold. The style of the uniform changed from time to time but the colours always remained the same. As Mark moved through the photos one caught his eye, three young men, all in Raven's uniform. Underneath was a caption which read:

_The Three Al's_

_Alan, Alfred and Albert Morganstern. Three brothers, one uniform, one team. Alan's bandaged arm was the result of an in-game injury in which he hurt his elbow. The injury necessitated an operation which caused Alan to miss most of his senior season. He was hurt again on the first play of the championship game, and a second surgery kept him out of athletics for the rest his college career. Even without Big Al, Fred and Bert were able to lead the Ravens to their third conference football championship in as many years._

As Mark looked at the photo in more detail he noticed that one of the young men had a heavily bandaged arm slung around his brothers and he realised that this was, in all probability, the photo that Jesse had mentioned during dinner. Definitely interested now, Mark continued checking the photos and clicked on a link that took him to more photographs of the Morganstern brothers.


	12. New Year's Resolution

**Chapter Twelve: New Year's Resolution **

As Mark continued surfing, he found that the Morganstern brothers were highly popular subjects for photos, and with good reason. All three were handsome, photogenic young men, and except when on the playing field, they were seldom seen without the company of a bevy of attractive young women. He frowned when he realized two of the three young men always seemed to be smoking, but never all three. On a list of the members of their graduating classes, Mark found they were also stellar students, with Bert and Fred both graduating _magna cum laude_ and tying for valedictorian in the business program. Al took equal honors in the fine arts program.

Mark left the sports and academic sections of the site and went to the extracurricular and social life section where another familiar face kept appearing. Alexis Cheadle, president of the Edgar Allen Poe society and homecoming queen for the class of 1976, was also captain of the cheerleading squad. She was often seen in the company of one or more of the Morganstern brothers. One picture from the Spring Formal showed her with her girlfriends. She was the image of youth and beauty in a rich blue satiny dress with a tight bodice and a long, full skirt falling from an empire waist, and she was laughing heartily at something with one hand resting on her abdomen. In the next image, she was dancing with a young man with his arm in a sling. His back was to the camera, but the white straps and elbow of the sling showed up vividly against his tuxedo jacket. Another picture showed both Fred and Bert trying to cut in on her partner. The caption suggested that it was all in good fun, but the expressions on their faces told a much different story. There was something else amiss, too, but Mark couldn't figure out what.

As he continued surfing the Class of '76 page, he began reminiscing about his own college days. He'd dated a few very attractive young women, but never felt serious about anyone until he'd completed his medical training. A young cop he knew named Harry Trumbull had introduced him his girlfriend, a lovely young woman named Catherine Meehan. Almost against their will, Mark and Catherine had fallen in love. They never meant to hurt Harry, but he had been hurt anyway. Mark and Catherine had gone on to get married and raise two children, and for years afterward, Mark and Harry's relationship had been cool at best. As he made his way back to the picture from the Spring Formal, the pieces suddenly clicked, and, with a grin on his face, he called Amanda. He had to check on a few things just to be sure.

OOO

"Wow!" Jesse said bouncing excitedly in his chair. "So you really know what happened now? After five years you've finally figured it out." It was the New Year's Eve, and he was due to start on the early shift that coming Monday, which was fine with him. He loved his mom, but he could only stand so much mothering, and seven days was about his limit.

"I'm pretty sure I have," Mark replied, "but I need to talk to Bert and Alexis again. Amanda, did you check your autopsy notes for me?"

"Yes, I did, and you were right about the condition of Fred's lungs," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mark, I should have spotted that five years ago."

"You didn't know to look for it five years ago, Sweetie. None of us did."

"I should have," Amanda said. "Alexis told me Bert had quit smoking months before the . . . incident." She still couldn't bring herself to call it a murder, she had been so used to thinking of it as a tragic, freak accident, "But I never thought to ask about Fred."

"Well, at any rate, his killers will be brought to justice tonight," Mark reminded her.

"Why? What was wrong with Fred's lungs?" Jesse asked.

"Nothing, really," Amanda said, "just a moderate degree of anthracotic pigmentation."

"For a man in his late forties living in LA, what's so unusual about that?"

"Nothing in particular, but Fred didn't live in LA all his life," Amanda reminded him.

"I still don't see . . . "

"You will," Mark promised, interrupting him before he could finish his question, "but now, I'm not so sure Fred is the one who died that night." Mark stood up and walked through to the den before Jesse could ask another question. He enjoyed leading his curious protégé through the facts and letting him draw his own conclusions, not just because he felt Jesse learned more that way, but also because it served to confirm Mark's own suspicions. The young man still didn't realize himself how clever he was and had no idea how often Mark relied on his insights to help him think matters through.

"Steve, do you have the search warrant?" Mark asked as his son, Jesse, and Amanda gathered round him at the computer desk.

Steve nodded and pulled out the piece of paper. "Three uniforms are going to be here within the hour with a sledge hammer and crowbar."

Mark smiled. "Good, they'll need them. I hope they brought coveralls, too, it's going to be messy work."

"What is?" Jesse queried.

"Dismantling the fireplace," Mark said, as if it should have been obvious to everyone. Steve, Jesse, and Amanda exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs, but refrained from asking anything more. They knew it was impossible to get Mark to disclose his secrets when he got like this. He liked prodding them to solve the mystery too much to just let them skip to the end.

"I don't understand why you waited so long though," Jesse finally said, letting the comment about the fireplace go for now. "I mean if you figured it out after dinner last week, why didn't you move then?"

Mark sighed. "Because I didn't want to ruin another Christmas for Alisha, and because I thought you might like to be here in case she needs a shoulder to cry on again."

Jesse frowned and nodded. "So, what finally gave it away for you?"

"A picture," Mark said as he booted up the computer and brought up He'd put the picture in question into his favorites, and in just a moment, they were all looking at the 1976 Spring Formal. It was the picture of Alexis laughing with her friends. Mark waited patiently to see if the others noticed what he saw. If they didn't, and it was all just a figment of his imagination, he was going to look pretty silly when they went next door and tore the fireplace apart.

"Wow, is that Alexis?" Steve asked.

"Alexis Cheadle, yes," Mark said, "with some of her girlfriends. It was her senior year."

"Hey, she was pretty hot," Jesse said. "I mean, for back then, y'know," he blushed when he got questioning looks from all three of his friends.

"You're right, Jess, there's no denying she was a lovely girl, but what's wrong with this picture?"

Jesse shrugged. "None of them have partners?" he suggested.

Mark smiled, "Actually, they do, but this is just the girls together."

They studied the image a few more minutes and finally, Steve said, "I don't see anything wrong, Dad."

Amanda peered closely at the image for a moment and then looked at Mark in shock. "She's not?"

Mark shrugged.

"She can't be!" Amanda insisted.

"The alumni page says she and Bert got married right after graduation and had a daughter that November," Mark told her.

"But Dad, that's only . . . " Steve counted on his fingers to be sure. "That's only six months."

"Hey!" Jesse said in surprise, "She is a little pudgy, look!"

As everyone duly examined Alexis' pudgy abdomen, Steve asked, "So what does the condition of Fred's lungs have to do with her being three months pregnant when she graduated college? And what do either of those have to do with how Fred --or I guess you think it was Bert now-- what does any of this have to do with how the victim died?"

"On the surface, absolutely nothing," Mark said, "if it weren't for the picture Jesse told us about at dinner, I probably never would have put it all together."

"You mean the one with the older brother cut out?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

Steve rubbed his head as if it was starting to ache and said, "I'm still not getting it, Dad."

Mark smiled. "Two women went into an office and applied for the same position," he said, launching off on a tangent that left his three companions rolling their eyes in confusion and frustration. "They looked just alike, had the same last name, and were born on the same day, at the same time, in the same hospital, to the same mother with the same doctor attending. When they turned in their applications, the receptionist in personnel glanced over them, looked at the women and said, 'You must be twins.' The women answered no, and they were telling the truth. How is this possible?"

"I've heard this before, haven't I?" Steve asked.

"Yep. It took you about ten minutes to figure it out," Mark told him. "Your sister needed about two days, but she was seven years younger and hadn't really reached the necessary level of reasoning ability yet."

Steve suddenly grinned broadly. "You can't be serious!" he said.

Mark nodded. "Took you less than a minute this time."

"Hey, look at this," Jesse said. He had come to the picture of Bert and Fred confronting Alexis' dance partner. "Bert and Fred look pretty mad, don't they?"

"But how can we tell which one is which?"

"Well . . . "

"Wait, I know!" Steve interrupted. "Fred's lungs and the disowned brother with the bandaged arm. He must have a scar or other distinguishing mark."

"A scar," Mark confirmed, "from surgery on an injured elbow."

"Ok, now I am lost," Amanda said, "I know Bert and Fred were twins, but Mark, I don't understand your story about the twins applying for a job."

"They weren't twins," Mark said with a grin.

"But they had to be! They looked so much alike," Amanda insisted. "And what's so important about the brother they disowned? As far as we know, he wasn't even in the state at the time, let alone the vicinity of the murder."

Just then, the doorbell rang, and before anyone could ask any more questions, Steve said, "That will be Pixley, Huntingdon, and Wade. Jesse, Amanda, just follow along. This is gonna be good."

OOO

"Guys I'm not so sure I like this," Jesse said. "Alisha is a sweet girl, and I don't want to just storm into her house."

"We're not storming in, Jess," Steve told him. "We're going to ring the bell and wait for someone to answer."

"I still don't like it," Jesse complained. "I mean, five years ago, her uncle died on Christmas Eve, and now, we're going there to dredge up old memories and tear up her house looking for evidence. Somehow, it just seems really mean."

"I know, Jesse," Mark said, "but it has to be done if we are ever going to catch the killer, and it should be done before Bert and Alexis leave." As they arrived at the door, Mark said, "Now, please, Jesse, I know you're not happy about our doing this, but we deliberately waited until you could be here to support Alisha. We're all fond of her, and we know this is going to be hard on her. Will you look after her while Steve and I question her parents and the officers search the fireplace?"

"Yeah," Jesse nodded, and then he added shyly, "and no offense, Mark, but for Alisha's sake, if you think Bert or Alexis is Fred's killer, I hope you're wrong."

"I wish I were, Jesse," Mark said, "but I don't think so."

"There's only one way to find out," Steve said, and he rang the bell.

"Steve?" Alisha said curiously as she opened the door, and then, "Mark? Jesse? And . . . I'm sorry, Miranda, is it?"

"Amanda," she corrected the young woman.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Amanda." Looking back at Steve she asked, "What are you guys doing here, and why have you brought the police?"

Steve handed her the search warrant and said, "Alisha, I really hate to do this, but this is a warrant to search this house for evidence relating to the murder of Alfred Morganstern. Among other things, it covers knocking down the back wall of the fireplace to see what is behind it."

"Murder?" Alisha said in disbelief, "Steve, Uncle Fred fell off the roof and got tangled in the Christmas lights. I didn't see it, but Dr. Sloan, you told me so yourself."

"I know I did, Honey," Mark said soothingly, "because that's how it appeared at the time, but there always seemed something wrong with that theory, and now I think I can prove who did it and how and why."

"Alisha, can we come in?" Steve asked gently but insistently.

"I . . . I don't know," she said, then called over her shoulder, "Daddy, can you come here?"

With a jerk of his head, Steve indicated that Jesse should try to clear the way for them.

"Look, Alisha," the young doctor said as he moved forward and put his arm around her, "the warrant is good. You can't keep them out." He gently guided her into the house and smiled at Bert, "Hi, Mr. Morganstern."

Bert looked at him blankly for a minute, which surprised Jesse. He didn't know Alisha's dad all that well, but they had met a few times, and the man should have recognized him. Still, if he had suffered a nervous breakdown, he might not remember much of anything associated with his twin brother's death.

As Alisha introduced them again, Mark and company entered the house and went through to the living groom. In the background, Jesse was aware of Alexis' shrill voice. "Mark, what is the meaning of this?"

"My son is here to arrest a murderer," Mark said, and then turned to look at Bert who was just entering the room, followed by Jesse and Alisha, "or maybe two."

Alisha looked up at Bert and queried anxiously, "Daddy?"

"It's ok, Alisha," he said, going over to the coffee table and picking up a pack of cigarettes and shaking one out. He lit up, took a deep drag, and blew out a cloud of smoke. Turning to Mark, he added stonily, "I have heard of nosy neighbors, Dr. Sloan, but this is a little extreme. You want to know what's behind our fireplace? I'll tell you! A wall."

Alisha begged, "Steve, please don't do this! Please just leave us alone. Uncle Fred killed himself. I thought you decided that five years ago."

"Alisha," Steve said, not unkindly, "your uncle's death was listed as a probable suicide so that your mother and father could dispose of the body and settle his estate, but there were a lot of inconsistencies. The case was never officially closed. Now, some new facts have come to light, and my dad thinks, and I agree, that your Uncle Fred was murdered."

"NO!" Alisha shouted and stamped her foot. "Who are you accusing, and why? Is it one of us? What motive could we have?"

"Alisha, I don't think you want . . . "

"I knew about my mom's affair with Uncle Fred," she told him, and Steve couldn't hide his surprise.

"Alisha, get a hold of yourself!" Alexis snapped.

"No, Mom! You made a mess of our lives once, and it almost destroyed Daddy. I won't to let it happen again." Turning to her father, sobbing as she spoke, she said, "Daddy, I'm sorry, I found out weeks before you did, but I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know if I _should_ tell you. Then you . . . caught them, I knew you did because you were so mad and mean for a while. Remember? It was in August, before I went back to school."

"Alisha, are you sure it was August?" Mark asked.

She nodded. "I'm sure of it because my tuition was due and he'd forgotten to pay it. When I asked about it, he blew up at me, scribbled out a check, and told me I should never ask him for money again and that if I needed any more I should get a job. I was so upset I cried for days."

Mark nodded thoughtfully, but didn't say anything.

Alisha looked at Steve with big soulful eyes and said, "I don't understand, why are you doing this now?"

Before Steve could answer, Jesse took charge of the distraught young woman. "Alisha, let's go into the kitchen and let me fix you something to drink," he said. "You know Steve and Mark, and you know they wouldn't do this if they didn't think they were right. If they're wrong, and I really hope they are, well, then, someone will just have to fix your fireplace, and no harm done."

Jesse didn't say what would happen if Steve and Mark were right. He knew Alisha didn't want to contemplate that. Also, until now, he hadn't realized that she had known about her mother's affair before her father did, and he figured that might change things a little. He knew she was much closer to her dad than she was to her mom, and he figured that made her a suspect now, just as much as Bert, and he wanted to speak with her before Steve and Mark did. A part of him felt like he was betraying his friends, but he knew, if she did confide in him that she did it, he would do everything in his power to help her.

As Jesse left with the distraught young woman, Steve turned to Pixley and Huntingdon, "So, what are you waiting for, gentlemen? You know what to do. Wade, you know what you're looking for, right?" The young woman nodded her head and went up the stairs.

Fortunately, the fireplace was not burning, so they wouldn't have to linger there until it cooled off. As Wade left to search the other rooms, Huntingdon and Pixley donned their coveralls and stepped into the opening and began to clear out the debris from the last fire. As they worked, Alexis said, "I must tell you, Lieutenant, if you insist on proceeding with this unwarranted search, I will sue the department, and I will sue you and your senile, busybody father for everything you've got."

Steve returned her glare with an icy smile of his own. "This search is warranted, Alexis," he said, and, pleased with his pun, he showed her the piece of paper in question. "And even if we find nothing, which I doubt will be the case, we are still covered. The evidence led us here. The Fourth Amendment protects you against 'unreasonable searches and seizures,' not mistaken searches, and it requires only 'probable cause,' not absolute certainty. If we're wrong, I'll personally pay for repairs, but you'll have no suit with me in court."

OOO

"Jesse, I don't under stand why they are doing this," Alisha said as she slouched in her chair. "I always thought Steve and Mark were really good guys. Why are they doing this?"

"I will explain what I can for you, Alisha," Jesse said, setting a cup of tea before her, "after you drink this."

She nodded and said, "And what are they looking for behind the fireplace?"

"I don't know." Jesse sat down opposite her with a glass of milk in his hand. "Mark didn't tell us."

"Mark?" She snorted. "I thought Steve was the cop!"

"Yeah, he is," Jesse said, "but you know Mark consults for the LAPD."

Alisha nodded, and then she just sat there, staring into her tea for several minutes. All of a sudden, her expression crumpled, and she began to sob. As Jesse moved round the table and took her in his arms, she begged him, "Please, Jesse, tell me my daddy didn't do this!"

Not wanting to make a liar of himself, Jesse just held her and kept silent.

OOO

"You know, you left us a lot of clues," Mark said as they waited to see what Huntingdon and Pixley would discover. "It was only a matter of time before it all came together."

"I don't see how," Alexis said, "we didn't do anything wrong."

"I would expect you to say that, Alexis," Mark said. "I have to say, you are amazingly cool under pressure." She was indeed calm. Not a hair out of place, no sheen of perspiration. Mark had to wonder if her pulse was racing or if she was really was as confident as she appeared.

"Bert on the other hand is giving himself away with every breath he takes."

"What?" Bert gasped from a cloud of smoke. "What are you talking about? What do you mean 'with every breath?'"

Mark smiled in his congenial way, and explained. "When Fred died, I came in to look after you. I offered Alexis a sedative and she accepted it. You refused, so . . . " Interrupted by the sharp metallic sound of a hammer striking a chisel, Mark paused a moment and looked over toward the fireplace where Pixley and Huntingdon were beginning their assault on the bricks.

Raising his voice, he continued. "So, against my better judgment, I suggested you have a cigarette to calm you down. You refused that, too, telling me you had quit just a few days before."

"Yeah, what about it?" Bert asked suspiciously as he lit a fresh Pall Mall from the butt of the old one.

Mark was watching the nervous man closely, and he could see Bert flinch slightly with every blow of the hammer against the chisel. He sat quietly and let the noise pervade the room for a minute or two.

"Well, you're smoking now, and from that wheeze I hear when you exhale, I suspect you have been doing so for a long time, even though you swore you wouldn't disappoint your daughter."

Blowing out a cloud of blue smoke, Bert said, "My brother had just died at my house, while he was helping me. I was close enough to have saved him . . . " Bert choked up for a minute, and Mark felt for the man despite what he had done because he could tell the grief was real. "He called out to me, but I didn't help him because . . . "

"Bert!" Alexis snapped, "Don't let him do this to you. You'd have helped him if you'd known he was in trouble, but it's like you told me before, he only yelled once, and you were busy with the Santa. Oh, for goodness sake!" Alexis wailed, squeezing her temples and glaring toward where Huntingdon and Pixley were chipping away at the mortar between the bricks. "Steve, can't they just bash the wall in?"

"I'm sorry, Alexis," Steve replied with mock sincerity. "They have to work carefully to preserve the evidence."

"I told you, before, there is no evidence!"

"She's right," Bert said adamantly, as if the whole exchange between Steve and Alexis had never interrupted his conversation, "I didn't know he was in trouble, and I was busy changing the bulbs in that damned Santa!"

"Bert, if that's all there was to this case, I'd probably believe you," Mark said generously, "but I have been reviewing Steve's files, and the fact is, between the two of you, you have told so many stories about the cigarettes alone that I doubt you can keep them straight."

Mark turned to Alexis but he kept talking to Bert. "That night you said you had quit smoking just a few days ago as a Christmas present to your daughter. And you told me the cigarettes on the table weren't your brand. I thought that was strange, and I had Steve collect them as evidence. You're smoking the same brand now."

"They- they were here, I needed one later, after you left. Once I finished them, I just kept buying the same brand."

"Bert," Mark said in his 'don't take me for a fool' tone, still looking at Alexis and smiling as her furious, narrow-eyed gaze lasered into him. "I've never smoked myself, but I have noticed that to most smokers, cigarettes are like beer. You develop a preference for a certain brand. Oh, others will do in a pinch, but if you have the choice, you always go back to the same kind. Why didn't you go back to your own brand once the ones on the coffee table were gone?"

"I-I don't know. Does it really matter?"

"Oh, by itself, it's nothing, but there's so much more to consider."

"Like-like what?" Bert had begun to perspire, and as Mark continued to watch her, Alexis shifted uneasily in her seat.

"Well, there's some question as to when you quit smoking, for example." Mark could see that Bert knew it was all over, he was just desperately hoping that Alexis could save him. The real challenge now was to get Alexis to implicate herself.

"You claimed it was only a few days prior to Fred's death," Amanda jumped in, "but Alexis told me it was back in August and you only said you had done it for Alisha because it was an easy way to make her happy. Your house manager, Ginny, confirmed it."

"Why would he lie to me, Amanda?" Alisha asked.

"H-how long have you b-been here?" Bert stammered to his daughter.

"Long enough to wonder what's really going on here," she replied. "Daddy, why do they think you lied to me?"

Bert couldn't meet his daughter's gaze, so Alexis stepped into the breach. "For Pete's sake, Alisha," she chided her daughter, "can't you see that they want to frame your father? What lies did Jesse tell you to make you doubt us? Of all the ungrateful . . . I know you never liked me all that much, but I should think you would at least come to your father's defense."

"I have never known Jesse to lie to me," Alisha said, "and he's never hurt me either, Mother. You, on the other hand, have never seemed to hold much regard for my feelings." Alisha began to weep again, and she as she turned to Jesse, she said, "If you were me, who would you trust?"

"Oh, please Alisha, stop the histrionics!" Alexis shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "August or December, what does that have to do with anything?" she asked shrilly as she kept darting furious glances at Pixley and Huntingdon each time the hammer struck the chisel or another brick was placed on the hearth with a thump.

"Oh, like the brand of cigarettes, it's meaningless on its own, but in context with a few other facts, it tells quite a story," Mark said

"Wh-what other facts?" Bert stammered.

"Well . . ." Mark got up and crossed the room. "Excuse me, Alexis," he said politely as he reached past her and picked up the photo on the occasional table off to the side behind her. "Take this picture for instance. It's of you and Fred in your college days, right?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Bert was smoking like a train now, taking deep drags and puffing them out one after another in rapid succession.

"Well, someone has obviously been cut out of it," Mark said congenially, and Bert paled. "Again, nothing on its own, but I saw this picture on the internet a few days ago, and I know who was in it with you."

"We don't speak that name in this house," Alexis said.

"I know," Mark said. "Initially because Bert hated him, and now, maybe because it could cause some confusion, it might slip out in front of someone." Alexis blanched and Mark beamed.

Alisha looked up from where she was crying on Jesse's shoulder and asked between sniffles, "What do you mean, confusion, Dr. Sloan? What might slip out?"

"Alisha," Mark said kindly, "your dad and your Uncle Fred weren't twins, they were two of a set of identical triplets. I think your uncle killed your dad that night, Alisha, and I think this man," he nodded toward Bert, "is really your Uncle Al who was lying in wait for Fred."

"But why? Why would he do such a thing?"

"Because your mother has always been in love with Al, Alisha. Because she had his baby."

The room went into stunned silence for a moment. Then Alisha, realizing the implications of Mark's statement gasped, "Ohhh," swayed on her feet, and fainted back into Jesse's arms.

Alexis snorted indignantly. "Of all the harebrained, convoluted . . . "

Ignoring her, Mark turned and said, "Prove me wrong, Al. Roll up your sleeves and show me there is no scar."

Al didn't comply, but he didn't rebel, either. He just sat there defeated.

"Lieutenant, we've got something," Pixley said excitedly. He shined his light inside the hole he and Huntingdon had made. "It's a body, sir."

Before they could pull out another brick, Officer Wade came tramping down the steps, "I found some letters, sir," she said. "Mrs. Morganstern planned it all out, but Dr. Sloan was wrong about one thing."

Everybody looked at Wade in surprise then, and she smiled, "Bert didn't find out about the affair by accident. The intention was to provoke him to murder Fred so he would go to jail and Al could step in, pretending a desire to heal their broken relationship. Then Al was supposed to take over the business, move into the house and so forth."

"But Bert really did forgive them, didn't he?" Mark said, "And that ruined the plan."

"He . . . he made me do it!" Alexis screeched. "He was going to tell Alisha who her father really was, and I couldn't let him. I couldn't let him hurt my baby girl!"

Al launched himself out of his chair toward Alexis. "Shut up, you . . . "

Realizing the large, angry ex-football player could snap the woman in two, Steve stopped him cold with a punch to the gut. Then he wrestled him to the floor and cuffed him. "Albert . . . "

"Alan, Son."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Dad. _Alan_ Morganstern, you are under arrest for the murder of Albert . . . "

"Alfred." Mark supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, I mean Al_fred_ Morganstern."

"I want to make a deal," Al gasped as he got his wind back. "I'll confess and testify against Alexis for life in prison instead of the death penalty."

"Yeah? Well, let me read you your rights and get you booked before you start doing that," Steve said. "Pixley and Huntingdon, take Mrs. Morganstern into custody. Wade, call the CSU to finish excavating the body."

As the officers moved to execute Steve's orders, Alisha began to come around again. "Jesse?" she called out plaintively. "Jesse, what's going on?"

"Shh," Jesse soothed her as she began to get teary again, "I'll explain everything as soon as I understand it. Right now, though, I want to get you somewhere that you can lay down, preferably away from all the police activity."

"Here, Jess," Mark said, handing his young friend the keys to the beach house. "Take her to my place and look after her. She's probably in a mild state of shock."

OOO

_"Mmmmm."_ Jesse followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen. It had taken a while to settle Alisha last night, and eventually, she had decided to stay at Mark's beach house because she couldn't go back to her own home "after what happened there." With Amanda's help, he had gone back over to the Morganstern's house and collected a change of clothes and some other things Alisha would need when she awoke. Then, he had sat there for hours watching her sleep. It was late before he satisfied himself that she was resting comfortably, so he gratefully accepted Mark's offer of the other guest room for the night.

"Hey," he said croakily as he entered the kitchen and shuffled over to the coffee pot. He grinned gratefully as Mark handed him a steaming mug of the rich brew and moved over toward the table.

"Did you sleep all right?" Mark asked.

"Oh, yeah," Jesse said, and then he looked sheepish. "I had intended to look in on Alisha a couple of times, but I never woke up."

Mark shook his head. "Don't feel bad. Neither did she. I checked on her three times, and I don't think she ever stirred. Rest is the best thing for her right now. She's going to hear some painful truths in the coming days and a good night's sleep will help her deal with them."

Jesse nodded and took another long swallow of coffee.

After a short silence, Mark said, "She's going to need lots of support, too. She's going to need you."

"Oh, I don't know, Mark," Jesse said. "I had my chance with her, and I never recognized it. She was gone almost before I knew I wanted her to stay."

"So, now you have a second chance. Jess, even if she isn't interested in you that way, she needs a friend."

Jesse nodded again. "Yeah, and I'll be there, but I don't want to pressure her, you know. I think she needs time right now to deal with what has happened to her family."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Mark agreed.

"So, did Bert . . . uh, Al . . . whoever he is . . . did he get his deal?" Jesse asked.

"Oh, yeah, he spilled everything, and it matched perfectly with what was in the letters," Mark told him. "The plan was to provoke Bert to kill Fred in a rage of passion so that he could go to jail and Al could come mend fences and support his brother's wife while her husband was in prison, but that didn't happen. Alexis and Al never bargained on Bert's regrets about severing his relationship with Al. So, Alexis convinced Fred to kill Bert on Christmas Eve and then to impersonate Bert so that he could continue his relationship with Alexis and he wouldn't have to pay back the money he'd stolen from the business. Finally, Al came in and killed Fred, strangled him with another string of lights if you can believe it, probably while Alexis and Alisha were still sedated."

"But how did Alisha never notice he wasn't her father?"

"That was a big problem for them," Mark said, "but they solved it rather ingeniously. In the days immediately after the murder, Al laid low and Alexis spread the story that he was so overwrought with grief that he couldn't face anyone."

"I remember that!" Jesse said, and then lowered his voice to avoid waking the whole house. "I never saw him at the wake."

"Right," Mark said. "Then Alisha went back to school in early January. Now, I don't know if redecorating the house was part of the plan, but they used it as an excuse to stage some serious arguments leading up to the nervous breakdown which coincided with the end of Alisha's school term so she didn't get a chance to see him before she moved to Baltimore. . . "

"And the breakdown was a fake," Jesse realized.

"Right, but it explained for Alisha why her father seemed so changed when she saw him again back East."

"Wow. They really went over the top on this thing, didn't they?" Jesse said, amazed.

"They sure did," Mark agreed, "and they probably would have gotten away with it if none of them had smoked."

"But how did you know which one of them was which?" Jesse inquired. "And how did you ever guess that one of the bodies was walled up behind the fireplace?"

Mark grinned. "Remember I asked about the condition of Fred's lungs?"

"You mean Bert's…the first body."

"Right."

"Yeah, I remember. Amanda said there was moderate anthracotic pigmentation, and I said that wasn't too unusual for a man living in LA . . . " Jesse began grinning as realization dawned. "But as Amanda pointed out, he hadn't lived in LA all his life, so it was really inconsistent for a man his age . . . especially a nonsmoker . . . "

"But?" Mark coaxed.

"But it would be consistent with a heavy smoked who had recently quit . . . like Bert."

"Exactly," Mark confirmed.

Jesse beamed proudly for a minute, then he frowned in confusion. "But that doesn't explain how you knew where to find Bert . . . I mean Fred . . . the second body."

"Baltimore," Mark said.

Jesse's frown deepened. "Baltimore? I don't get it."

"Bert, Fred, Al, and Alexis all went to Colonial University together," Mark explained. "The guys played for the university football team, the Ravens. Alexis was the president of the Edgar Allen Poe Society."

Jesse threw up his hands and said, "It's still not clicking, Mark."

Mark didn't reply. Instead, he got up and went into the living room for a moment. Coming back to the kitchen, he handed Jesse a book called _Classic American Short Fiction._ "You're looking for a story called 'The Cask of Amontillado.' When I read about the Poe Society, I remembered the bricks at the wake. Steve had mentioned that Alexis had begun redecorating with the insurance money, but the bricks were there long before the insurance would have paid a claim. Then when I thought about the problems Alisha was having with that fireplace, I knew what had happened."

Mark began to fix breakfast while Jesse read. He whisked together some eggs, milk, and vanilla, set out the butter and syrup, and started cooking some sausage. By the time Steve got up and Amanda arrived, he would be ready to dip the bread in the egg batter for French toast.

"Wow, that's a creepy story," Jesse said a few minutes later as he nibbled tiny bites from the edge of the sausage patty Mark had given him to tide him over until Steve and Amanda arrived. Neither of them expected Alisha to wake up any time soon, but Jesse planned to be there when she did, and he knew Mark would be happy to cook for her if she was hungry.

"It's a weird one all right," Mark agreed, "but the more I get to know about her, the more I think it is right up Alexis' alley."

"My mother isn't a very nice person, is she?"

Stunned, Mark and Jesse both turned to the door to face Alisha.

"Could I . . . Do you think I could have a cup of coffee?"

As Jesse flew to her side and helped her to a seat, Mark poured the young woman a cup of coffee and set the cream and sugar in front of her. Jesse pulled his chair close beside hers and waited to see if she wanted to talk. After fixing her coffee and stirring it for a while, Alisha looked at Mark and asked, "How did you know Al and my mother . . . Is there a test . . . Was he really my . . . "

Tears flooded her eyes and finally she blurted. "I want a paternity test! I want to know which one of them was my dad!"

For an agonized minute, Mark and Jesse just looked at each other. Then Jesse placed his hand over Alisha's. "That probably won't work, Honey," he told her. "Paternity tests aren't always helpful when two brothers are likely candidates for the father. With twins, if they are identical, well, there is some research being done at Boston University, but the science might never progress to the point where we can determine paternity."

"Alisha," Mark said, "I made an educated guess based on some of your folk's old college pictures I saw on the internet. Al confirmed it. Now, I could be wrong and Al could be lying . . . "

"But in all likelihood, that . . . jerk is my dad, huh?"

Mark shrugged helplessly. He couldn't change the facts.

Jesse slid his chair over so he and Alisha were sitting with their hips touching. Then he wrapped one arm around her. Knowing he was only intruding now, Mark moved back to the stove and began fixing French toast for the two young people.

"Alisha, can I tell you something without hurting your feelings?"

She nodded. "I know you wouldn't intentionally say anything to hurt me."

"It doesn't matter which of them was your father," he said.

"Oh, of course not," she said with sarcastic anger. "They're identical, and that makes them interchangeable."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Jesse tried to appease her.

"Yeah, try telling that to my mom."

"Will you listen to me?" Jesse asked, "Or do you still need to rail at someone about everything that has happened? I'll understand if that's what you need to do, but what I have to say is important. I want to make sure you're in the right frame of mind to get it."

She sniffed, still very sad. "I . . . I'll listen."

Nodding, Jesse said, "Good," and he gave her a little encouraging squeeze. "What I'm trying to say is, DNA doesn't make someone your dad, Alisha. My dad was never there for me when I was growing up. I know now that there were reasons, but when you're a kid, you don't want reasons. You want your dad."

She nodded slightly, and Jesse continued. "Which one of those guys loved you? Which one painted your bedroom in pinks and yellows when you were a little girl? Which one went to your soccer games and band recitals?"

"Bert," she whispered.

"Then he's your dad," Jesse said. "I love my father, Alisha, but the truth is, Mark has been more of a dad to me than Dane Travis ever was."

Mark felt the warmth and affection spread through him, and he glanced up to see Jesse looking at him with love in his eyes. The two exchanged a smile, and then Jesse looked back at Aisha.

"It's ok to still love your mom, too, you know," Jesse said.

Alisha sniffled deeply at the mention of her mother. "She betrayed me. She betrayed Daddy and Uncle Fred, too."

"I know, but she's your mom," Jesse said. "She raised you, and whatever she did wrong in her life, she got you right. It's ok to love her, and it's ok to not know how you feel about her, too."

Alisha threaded her fingers through her hair and nodded. "Thanks, Jesse. I, um, I think I need a shower now."

As she ran back the hallway, Mark approached the table with two plates of French toast. Jesse looked up at him, and they held each other's gaze for a fraction longer than usual. Then Mark nodded, and said, "Well, I guess you should eat hers, too, so it doesn't get cold." Grinning, Jesse happily transferred one portion to the other plate and drenched them both with butter and syrup.

OOO

"I can't believe what my mother got them all to do," Alisha said as she and Jesse walked away from the graves. Fred's headstone had been moved off Bert's grave, and erected over the grave right beside it. Fred was now resting beside his brother, and Bert had a new grave marker with his own name on it. Mark, Amanda, and Steve, the only others to attend the brief interment service, had already left.

"I can't believe how she lied to me all my life." She laughed derisively and said, "You must think I'm really stupid to have believed her story about Al being out of the country and Daddy having a nervous breakdown."

Jesse smiled, glad that she had begun thinking of Bert as her father again. Alisha had loved her dad so much that, when the truth had first come out, Jesse had been afraid losing that connection would destroy her.

"You had no reason not to believe her," Jesse said. "Did you read the copies of her letters that Steve gave you?"

Alisha nodded. "It's pretty much exactly like Mark said. She was neglected as a child, deprived, probably abused. She got lucky and went to college on scholarship, fell in love with an artist, who would always be broke, and married the businessman for financial security. I kind of understand why she was always so obsessed with having the perfect successful family, but I'll never understand how she could have done what she did to my dad and my uncles, Jesse. Of course, I've been lucky. I have always had everything I ever wanted."

"What do you plan to do with the house?"

"Sell it," Alisha said, "though it probably won't bring a very good price because of what all has happened there."

"Oh, I don't know," Jesse said, "with the right real estate agent, you could do all right. You just need to market it to the right people. Someone like Marilyn Manson, Tim Burton, or Stephen King might appreciate it."

"I don't think I want to profit from my messed up family's bizarre tragedy, Jesse," Alisha said.

"No, I suppose not. So, once you sell the house, what are your plans? Are you staying in LA or going back to Baltimore to see your mom's family?"

"I'll stick around here, I think," she said.

"Really?" Jesse couldn't hide his delight.

"Yeah. I never knew my mom's family until I went to Baltimore, and well, now, I'm not sure I want to know them," she said. "I figure family is a lot like what you said about fathers. Your family is the people who care about you. Blood ties don't matter much if someone loves you."

Alisha took his hand in hers then, stopped walking, turned to face him, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. From the look in her eyes, he could tell she counted him as a part of her family now. It would be a while before she was ready for anything more than friendship, but on the spot, he made a New Year's resolution not to squander this second chance.

Alisha turned then, and began walking slowly toward the cars again, but she did not let go of his hand.

The End

OOO

For the story Mark gave Jesse to read, go 


End file.
